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2 PAGE 2 DIOGEN Copyright Sabahudin Hadžialić & Authors All rights reserved. Copying articles, images and other content free of charge with obligation to underline from where it has been taken from: DIOGEN pro culture magazine, Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Otherwise, forget it! Publisher: Dhira Verlag, Gartenstrasse , Küsnacht., Schweiz, ISBN: DESIGN LOGO I NASLOVNICA/FRONT PAGE: STEVO BASARA, grafički dizajner/graphic designer...

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4 PAGE 4 You are invited to submit a poem for the International Poetry Competition SEEKING FOR A POEM, organized by the Association La Stanza del Poeta from Formia/Gaeta (Italy) and DIOGEN pro culture magazine from Sarajevo (Bosnia and Herzegovina). Please read How to Guide bellow. Step One (1) Submit one poem of your choice and your short Biography, including your photo ((color and/or blackwhite, 300 dpi, format 1200 x 800 pixels) by 30/11/2011. Submission should be sent to seekingpoem@yahoo.com. The results will be published by 31/1/2012. Please note that you are required to provide a valid address. All communications with you will be exclusively in writing and via . It is important that you keep your address valid and active during the selection process so that we can communicate with you. Step Two (2) Your poem will be evaluated by our judges: poets Giuseppe Napolitano from Italy and Sabahudin Hadžialić from Bosnia and Herzegovina. Having read and assessed your poem, the judges will make a decision to either publish it or decline publication. Step Three (3) The poems selected for publication will be uploaded on the competition website and the top three poems will be announced. All contestants are invited to visit the website and review the results. Step Four 4) The top three poems will be also announced on web site of the Association La Stanza del Poeta and DIOGEN pro culture magazine and published in the annual DIOGEN pro culture magazine No. 2. edition in February The winners will be offered the opportunity to be the judges for the next year s competition. Each winner will be presented with the opportunity to publish 20 poems of their choice in the second edition of DIOGEN pro culture magazine. We would like to thank you in advance for your devotion to the development of creative writing endeavors Additional Contest Information Who is Eligible? Poets of all ages are eligible and all styles of poetry are acceptable. How and When to Submit? We ask that you submit your writings by November 30, Submissions are accepted via toseekingpoem@yahoo.com Submission Requirements Poems must be original works. Poems should be submitted in English, or the English translation should accompany the original The poet's full name and address must be provided. The poet must be able to be notified via if their poem has been selected for publication. Guidelines The judges will be looking for originality, rhythm, rhymes, and audience appeal. The judges will be looking for poet s passion about the subject topic of the poem or a novel approach to every day topics.

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16 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 16 Teuta Butuči (born 1993, Zagreb, Croatia) is a selftaught artist working mostly in the feild of various visual arts and creative writing. She currently resides in Zagreb, Croatia and studies journalism at the Croatian Faculty of Political Science. Teuta is currently participating in the International Exhibition Project «Communication» in Volgograd, Russia (August, 10 September, 30). She plays electric guitar and collects tea spoons. And is excessively obsessed with art. She's also real bad in writing her own biography in third person, and she's not the most serious person on the planet as you might have already concluded reading this short bio. Additional info on Teuta's work: - won a first prize essay award Merz ; - published a short story Domino in Istrakon's book collection; - participated in a exhibition at the Croatian Museum of Contemporary Arts with a photography project on the theme of identity; - her artwoork was featured on the cover of Red Ochre magazine one of five finalists in a literary project Seven (organized by Celber Publishing) graphic design for HomerFest concert tickets - worked at the organization of a humanitarian music festival HomerFest held in Culture Factory, Zagreb finalist at the LiDraNo county festival with a piece in travel writing designed costimography for a play Midsummer night's dream at the Vidra theatre, Zagreb worked on a design for scenography for a play Midsummer night's dream at the Vidra theatre, Zagreb

17 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 17 Patrick Sammut was born in Malta in He studied Maltese and Italian language and literature, and History, at the University of Malta, and later obtained a Masters Degree in Contemporary Italian Literature with a thesis on The Novel of the Resistance Movement. Between 1994 and 1996 he studied Italian literature and literary criticism at the Università degli Studi of Florence. He teaches Maltese and Italian Language and Literature at De La Salle College since He is vice-president of the Maltese Poets Association, editor of the poetry magazine VERSI, and coordinator of a literary page of a local and virtual weekly newspaper, Il-Gens illum. He writes poetry in Maltese, English and Italian. He is author of various publications: literary criticism, poetry and short stories for children. His poems were published in both local and foreign journals and magazines. In 2008 he participated in the Progetto Dante of Ravenna, together with Maltese poet and translator, Alfred Palma, and won a Special Mention in the Nosside international poetry contest. In 2011 he participated in the Gaeta Mediterranean Poetry Festival. He keeps in contact with other poets and writers through and has a personal blog: He is married to Rosalie and father of Andrew, Kristina and Matthew.

18 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 18 Solmaz (Fatemeh) Behgam, born in 30 July 1980, is a freelancer Iranian writer, translator and poet. She finished her studying in Bachelor of Industrial Management from a private university in Mashad- Iran but being passionate and sentimental, she left the severe field of management to start experimental and creative modern writing and poetry. She was not fortunate enough for getting her poems published due to some censorship in Iran and that was when she started translating from English to Persian. She has published a collection of translated short stories by Taraneh Publication in Iran, named "two steps to smile" and her second book which is the translation of the famous Jonathan Livingston The Seagull by Richard Bach will be published by Winter She is also the lyricist for The PUZZLE (an Iranian alternative Rock Band). She was born in India from an Iranian parents and being fascinated by this incredible country and its culture, she moved to India on March 2011 for starting a new life and career. She currently lives in India- Jalandhar and is a student of Journalism and Mass Communication in Lovely Professional University, the biggest university of India, where she is also working on her first long non-fiction novel in English.

19 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 19 The Dark Cemetery Death of another day, Cradles another may, Under the dazzling stars, The mother singing lullaby, To calm the sun dreadful, Who fed on ambitions, the desires of life, Dusking it all to none but moon, Whose shine produces twilight, A dilemma over beauty divine, Or darkness that shred our hopes, Creating a petite era of motionless sinister, To overcome the pain of eternal struggle, Invincibly superimposed over our lives. But there blows the angel, Making trees rattle over the fields. Reminding us we are never intangible. And along vanishing the sweat of metamorphism, The warm breath, the words treasured within The glittering dreams, the staggering realities and The master of the universe, our mind leaves it on To the dawn. Open heartedly, this is Aditya Katiyar (India), and I awe the gravity of this opportunity given to me, that s certainly a spearhead out for millions of hearts to be pierced. Well, I savour this precious moment sharing with you all, my work, actually my life. You know what is common between all of those reading these poems: it s the spirit of being human, the mysteries of life which everyone pursues, some consciously and others subconsciously. Let me state an example, how many of you have tried closing the door of your refrigerator slowly, trying to discover when the light inside finally goes off? We all are one or the same, the only things that makes alteration are the decisions we take in different situations, so I hereby again welcome you all to read my work which are mysteries of life and how different people perceive the very situations. Hope you enjoy and pardon my mistakes, because some of you out there will definitely have more experience than an eighteen year old. Love you all readers and UNITED PRESS, simply awesome, anything more will deteriorate the pride. Thanks again. "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION

20 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 20 Daughter The coffee pot wouldn't keep quiet, I had a husband, Brothers, father and mother-in-law, four sons and two daughters-in-law. I told stories about their photos hanging on the wall, talked a bit about each of them. Women got bored coming in for coffee and listening to my misfortune, The coffee pot wouldn't keep quiet and I couldn't speak of anything else. One son, having survived the march, carried his brother's daughter in one hand, His intestines in the other. A true princess, live and healthy, I taught her everything, walking, Writing, reading, for her I forgave everything, to our enemy and to God. Other children won't play with her, they say: She can't laugh. I'll teach her that as well As soon as I learn myself Adnan Žetica was born in 1980 (Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina). He won several poetry awards: TICKET, Aladdin Lukac, Risto Ratkovic and Castellodi Duino for poetry. Author of the book People as proverbs. "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION

21 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 21 WORDSWORTH WAS RIGHT On a little quiet beach there was a grain of sand That did not dream of living high and grand. That grain was little, but size is no measure Small things are sometimes the greatest treasure. Deep in the shadows of sands and shores He stayed; and never did wage any wars. In the mist of the ocean, in the skies of blue He lived his own life, every day anew. The neighbours he had were noisy and brash All around their house you could only see trash; And how they loved cash! To spend it, of course, Showing to everyone their power, their force. And those across the road were quite phlegmatic, Nothing could move them, nothing made them ecstatic. Above were the skies, and in them the sun, Burning like fire, and thus having fun. The little grain of sand was sad and downcast, For all is upside down it had to change, fast! My plants are withering, my house is no home, No longer are we living in a pleasure dome. He brooded a lot, and he thought of a plan - I shall not die a wretched old man! Nor shall my offsprings have the life that I had, They won t think of life as a transient fad. Yet, little by little, the spirit did strengthen, The energy grew, the plot did not lengthen. From within we must work, from within to think, For we are the fault and the missing link. A wise grain of sand the little one was, He knew how to work for a good cause. Slowly, he linked the seas and the oceans, No, he didn t need any magical potions. No abracadabras, no legs of frogs, He didn t write any lengthy blogs. No longer did the neighbours throw around their trash, And suddenly, the sun shone with a healthy flash. They started thinking, their grey cells in motion, For others they even started showing emotion. How little it takes, to set everything right, Against ourselves it is in fact that we fight. That is how a change was brought about indeed, When togetherness rules, it has to succeed. This story we end with a quizzical thought, Are you a grain of sand or - not? by Adriana Stojanović "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION He talked to the seas; he talked to the sand, The sun he asked to lend a helping hand. With a sneer or two, they discussed the scheme, Many considered it a far-fetched dream.

22 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 22 BIOGRAPHY Adriana Stojanović was born 5 February 1988 in Jesenice, Slovenia. She currently lives and works in Subotica as a teacher of English language and literature and an interpreter. She has graduated from the Faculty of Philosophy, the Department of English Language and Literature and she is a teacher of English and an interpreter by profession. She has been awarded with St. Sava Award by the Ministry of education for exceptional results and significant contribution to the development of education in Serbia in She is the champion of Eastern Europe and second in the world in English grammar. She is a member of the Royal Literary Club Karađorđević and a participant of many literary contests. She is a regular contributor to the magazine Prosvetni pregled, and she also writes articles for the Magazine for English Teachers MELT. She has been awarded with a royal chart Karađorđević for significantly contributing to the Serbian cultural heritage. She has presented in American Corner in Subotica on the subject of modern American drama. Her poems have been published in the Young Talents Anthology and many other youth magazines. She was one of the organizers and a participant in the English Language Poetic Matinee, moderator of the Evening of Ogden Nash, and she has won several English language reciting competitions. Her poems are participating in the project Neposredna konzumacija kulture which includes a poetry exhibition in Novi Sad as a part of a global project entitled 100 Thousand Poets for Change. Adriana writes both poetry and prose in Serbian and in English. "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

23 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 23 GLOBALIZATION "Globalization! Globalization!! This terrestrial ball's growth conceptualization; Her impact trails across all nations, Bringing cohabitation of developments and devastation. She brought us glittery visualization, But consequent land and character depletion; Our crux achievement lies in her abduction, In her conception also lies our incessant confusion. She has been since the first generation, And her glory beyond all calculations; Nonetheless, her havoc above mere speculations, And her criticisms beyond vague castigation. Our outside world,she made positive contributions, Building our lives on solid foundations; Consequently our inner world's inexorable exploitation, Like an onion undergoing gradual exfoliation. My name is Afolayan Olayinka Idowu from Lagos state, Nigeria.I was born on the 7th of April, I am from a family of six. Currently attends University of Lagos, Nigeria, studying Mechanical Engineering. O I wish my imaginations becomes realization, To see her dwelling amongst us in perfection; And all her negativism in absolute moderation, But I fear my aspirations are mere illusions". "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

24 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 24 Invasion Like an invasion of locust or better still the cicadas that came the year we landed in Chicago in unison like synchronized swimmers the swallows display their tribal dance. As swift as they come they disappear in a cloud of darkened wings, no crashes; their wings bash against the pink horizon Seriating the skyline with acrobatic precision. Some stragglers loiter to show off as if to say That s the last display at the end of day. Aine MacAodha is a writer and amateur photographer from Omagh, situated in County Tyrone; North of Ireland. Her essays, poems and photographic work have appeared in issues of Luciole Press and Pirene s Fountain, her poetry has been published in online magazines including Argotist Online, Arabesque Review, Shamrock Haiku Journal, The Herald, Celtic Myth Podshow, Debris Magazine and recently in The Toronto Quarterly, Glasgow Review and the first two issues of download-issues/. which are also translated into Turkish. She has two poetry collections published. collection of poetry. show/ aine_macaodha "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

25 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 25 The Poisonous Mushrooms Watching from the shore for long, tides and waves roll with a rhythmic beat all foretold. New blossoms of temple flowers bloom, As some did fall face first to the ground in sweet surrender. Oh dancing leaves on this rainy day! Dance how you may lest you sway. At the sea s edge, a rush of wind parts memories left far behind... With remorse stood I conjuring the self-imposed torture; with pain that soared with the cross I bear. Like the dancing dew drop that rolleth from the blade of the staggering leaf on a withering tree, like a merry soldier whistling his final tune to the tip of the guillotine, looking skyward stood I dripping in complete surrender. The zenith had no bounds and the nadir inched too deep; wanting to dissolve in the hastened fury, complacency the soul rendered; knowing for sure that certain dreams are better gone when awake. The wine rolleth well, piercing those buds screaming for more. Till the blood-red wine knoweth not if its the blood or the wine that tasteth so well in the mouth it rolls. "My poisonous mushrooms! Left behind with the serpent's kiss, knowing too well and none better than he will know what he knows best that he desires to be plucked undeserving to be tasted; unless death beckons the soul from deep for the one who plucketh." "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

26 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 26 For the bio I would like to introduce myself as a simple and honest poet who dares to write the truth as uncouthed as it is; often in thoughtless thoughts that takes my journey through pathless paths. "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

27 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 27 MY HOME Now I come to discover pain To explore the obsidian dream To find the way to a mystical home Tears wash over it at long last I only cry for a solely birch Liberation from the past Home is were the stories begin Haze washes over them at long last Nightingale the swindler of the tree Knits ephemerd whistles of time Deep forest hides steps to my home Runnels wash over them at long last Now I run away from the stars The charts of a hidden significance If I come this way I might lose my soul Rains wash over her at long last Born on Febrary 10th, 1976 in Banja Luka, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Graduated literature at Faculty of Philosophy in Banja Luka. She gained the title of Master of Science in Library Science at Faculty of Philology in Belgrade (2011). Member of an editorial boards in "Putevi", "Diwan","Album" and "Knjizevnik" magazines. Translated in German, English, Polish, Slovenian and Danish. Participated in many literature events in B&H, Serbia, Montenegro, Slovenia, Holland and Denmark. Works as librarian at National and University Library in Banja Luka. Published three poetry books ("Sapat glinenih divova", "Andjeo pod krevetom" and Cvijet na kapiji sna ) and one short story collection ("Monolog u solji kafe"). Her poems and stories have been published in numerous collections and anthologies. She has won several literary awards for books as well as for individual poems and stories.

28 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 28 Intoxication Immersed in the photons of your being: a mixture of light when sipping the foam. It obscures my seeing. As the world spins around me, the night fades, and the space that surrounds me swallowed by an eye reflected in mirror blades. Aleksandra Đorđevic Was born on 2nd of August 1984 in Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia Education and Qualifications Elementary School Queen Victoria, Toronto, Canada; Elementary School Jovan Jovanovic Zmaj, Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia Grammar School Ivo Lola Ribar, Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia; graduated from the Philological Faculty of The University of Belgrade with a degree of a qualified teacher of Italian language and literature August 2008 one month scholarship at the University for Foreigners in Siena; finished Master Studies with a degree of Master of Italian Language and Literature; 2010 English Studies at the Philosophical Faculty of the University of Cologne Work Experience January 2009 April 2009 Personal assistant and translator in steel plant Sirmium Steel October 2008 Jun 2009 Teacher of ItalianLa guage in private school Oxford Scholar in Sremska Mitrovica

29 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 29 I Breathed You In An O O, silences invade the music of bands O, I could just about hear your smell O, an apple under the tree of peaches O, I stole a flower for your flower shop to sell O, my shoes rumble pebbles the town screeches O, my Russia-meningitis, my mountain, my favourite meaning of hell O, round O, ripe O, raspberry rudiment here settle Under you name A notebook of pianos Under your letter My life s dictionary fell Aleksandra Jurukoska, born , in Skopje, Macedonia, is a graduated English teacher from The Ss. Cyril and Methodius University in Skopje. Her popular blog poetry and prose writings led to a publication of a book in 2008 titled after the blog No Friends No Family, under the pseudonym Homeless. She is currently attending the English Literature postgraduate studies at The University in Skopje, as well as continuing to write and translate poetry and prose.

30 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 30 Today Don`t go away I want you to stay We`ll sing, laugh, we`ll play Today, today, today, today Your soul is full of dismay I heard you say -The world is gray- But it`s May, May, May, May Your clothes are beginning to fray You don`t know how to pay The food for the next day But we`ll find the way, the way, the way, the way You think everything is just the phony display But life is good, whatever you say We are we, they are they It`s going to be okay, okay, okay, okay We don`t have to pull the dray Being the vulture`s pray Together, we can disobey And run away, away, away, away You think you are led astray But my love will allay The pain you convey And we`ll pray, pray, pray, pray, pray We`ll find one distant sparkling bay, Listen to the song of a blue jay On silk sheets you`ll lay Every single day, day, day, day I`ll bring you coffee on a silver tray We`ll l have eternal Sunday We`ll swim, dance and sway So don`t delay, delay, delay, delay Listen to me, to what I say I can`t watch your decay Follow the golden ray And stay with me today, today, today, today I am a student of Banja Luka College of Communications Kappa Phi. I study English language and literature and contemporary social communication. I am twenty one year old girl who likes to read and write. I am from Serbia and I live in Kikinda, a small town in Vojvodina.

31 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 31 Online love talking to your sister over Skype somewhere on the other side of the ocean she shows you her apartment here s the living room, this is the kitchen bedroom, bathroom, hallway the furniture resembles all the furniture in the world that's somewhere in Chicago she says its in suburb not dangerous explains how far is downtown and about the lake you look at her eyes, her face she drinks coffee you smoke a cigarette she tells you about the driving license and how its necessary to have a car you look at her eyes chairs, and sofa, and sink, and table, and bread, and ham while she makes a sandwich and puts it in the toaster her coffee cup, and her smile it s all she tells you about her plans and how she's looking for a job you look at her you look at her you look at the screen Aleksandra Savanović, 25 years old, born in Novi Sad, currently resides somewhere between Belgrade where she lives and Berlin where she studies. Writes short stories and poems. Published. Believes that facts about person s life do not say much about the person itself.

32 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 32 TO MY DYING MOTHER I try in vain to stop the curtain falling on centre-stage, where you, a hapless heroine, aged and sick, lie on your bed, to play act five of your own tragedy! With wither s arms you cling to life, and try to smile, although you are in pain; and I stand by, a helpless wretch, and try in vain to stop the curtain falling on centre-stage, while Death looks on and sneers, mocking my hopes, my fears, and the last kiss I press upon your cheek, as with your ice-cold hands you try once more to pull me to your heart, to murmur a last word, ere you depart!

33 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 33 Alfred Palma was born on 8 September, 1939, at Floriana, Malta. He studied at Zabbar Primary School and at De La Salle College Cottonera. From 1957 to 1959 he was an Emergency Teacher in Government schools and then transferred to the Civil Service whence he retired in In the early sixties, besides a regular spate of poems, he wrote short stories and a good number of radio-plays which were broadcast on what was then the Rediffusion. In 1966 he embarked on the translation into Maltese Dante s Commedia (which he finished in 1986 and published in 1991). In 1972 he joined another three poets in Qawsalla 72, a collection of poems in Maltese. In the meantime he continued to write more poems in various languages, many of which prize-winners. In 1993 he published his first collection of poems: Preludji and in the same year he embarked on the Maltese translation of Shakespeare s 38 plays. In 1995 he published Overdose, his first original novel in Maltese, followed by his second one, Aħfrilna Dnubietna, in In 2005 he began work on Oscar Wilde s major works, starting off with Salomé. In 2007 he translated Voltaire s Candide and in 2010 he published Shakespeare's celebrated Sonnets. Palma has won many prizes in poetry contests in Malta, Italy, the U.K. and the United States. In 1992 he won 2 nd Prize (!) in the National Literary Prize (Dante s Commedia); in 1994: 3 rd Prize (N.L.P.) (Preludji); 1997: 1 st Prize (N.L.P.) for six of Shakespeare plays; in 2006: 1 st Dorian Gray). In 1993 he was awarded the Premio Città di Valletta and in 1996 the International Library of Poetry Award (U.K.). In the same year he won 2 nd Prize in the Concorso Carlo Goldoni ( Rome ). In 2000 he was awarded Ġieħ Ħaż- Żabbar (Zabbar Local Prize (N.L.P.) (The Picture of Council); in 2006 the Primo Cittadino dell Anno awarded by the Comune of Villabate (Sicilia); in 2008 the Trofew Agatha Barbara (Zabbar Civic Council), and also in 2008 the Lauro Dantis during the Progetto Dante 2008 in Ravenna ( Italy ), when Malta s name was added to those of the other countries who have their own translation of Dante s Commedia. In 2009 Palma featured in a prestigious anthology of verse: Rosso Primo, published in Italy, together with another 32 poets from all over the world, on the invitation of Professor Gaetano Chiappini from the University of Florence, to thus add further international prestige to both Malta and the Maltese language. In December 2009 he was awarded Ġieħ ir-repubblika for his contribution to literature and the Maltese language. In 2010 he was awarded a Special Prize for his literary achievements.

34 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 34 STONE MEMORIES The cherless memories are stony bond The old silver's reflection on the frigid neck In time that even the thougths paints in black Just as the jewellery in gold assumed. The heavy bond are in soul coined In thoughts that reign our heart While we swear Tyrant who demolishes the Reason That only fight and darkness can serenity grant. The stone is heavy for sour fights Like a word poignant as revenge in prime With slumbering reflections of the mild soul's frame It prepares new nightmare for future days. Therefore, You Stranger, who walks through these fields Do not throw tarnished silvers in the ashes Frame yourself under that morose stone Since the memories are here further from the first Rib. "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION 2011.

35 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 35 Alma Jeftić was born on July 14 th, 1984 in Zenica, Bosnia and Herzegovina. She has a BA in Psychology from the University of Sarajevo and an MA in State Management and Humanitarian Affairs from the University of Sarajevo, University of Belgrade and La Sapienza University of Rome. She is currently University of Belgrade PhD candidate in Psychology. and projects, such as: International Literary Project Word in Space ( Reč u prostoru, Belgrade, Serbia, 2008), Literary Days of Novo Sarajevo (2008, 2009, 2010), Module of Memory (2010). She is living in Zenica and Sarajevo and currently finalizing work on her first book of poetry. She has been working as a Teaching Assistant in Psychology at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, International University of Sarajevo, since November She published several papers in scientific journals and participated in a lot of national and international scientific conferences and congresses. Her first book titled "Public Administration Reform in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Psychological Aspects of Human Resource Management Reform" was published in April She is writing poetry and short stories which are published in a huge number of collected works in country and region in Bosnian, Slovenian, and Italian language. She has won several awards among which are the best: three first awards for the best high-school students essay in Zenica - Doboj Canton (2000, 2001, 2002), two first awards for the best essays among students in Bosnia and Herzegovina (2005, 2007), first award for drama According to Bosnia assigned by Serbian Forum The World of Books (2008), poem The Iron Bird was among the first 20 poems of the International Poet Competition Castello di Duino (Italy, Trieste) and therefore published in Collection of special selected poems (2008). "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION She was participant of a lot of national and international literary and poetry manifestations

36 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 36 I CAN SEE LOVE Along this road I m taking Here in this place where I m standing In the cloud so grey In the brunches of the pine tree I can see it. In all those rain drops In the heavy tree tops In the wind on the cliff At the doorstep of caves Love. Here where I find this truly white forest flower Upon the cliff There is a shadow, climbing, It is love flowing through this world.

37 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 37 She was born 19 th February 1951 in Cetinje. When she was still a child, her family moved to Belgrade where she completed the P.P. Njegos grade school. Later on, life s strange paths took her to Germany. There, she finished a course for a hairdresser followed by the Civil Engineering Academy in Frankfurt on Maine, where she still lives and works today. As a child, she used to engage herself in drawing, reading and poetry. Her poems were published even during her childhood in the Belgrade magazines for children. Now, when she has more time for herself, Ms. Raickovic returns to the demands of her spirit. In 2007 she published her first poetry book THE SPARK OF FIRE. She writes poetry, prose essays and aphorisms. Ms. Raickovic is a member of the following institutions: Association of Literary Authors Number Seven in Frankfurt on Maine Association of Literary Authors from Serbia and Abroad (SKOR) in Belgrade. Ms. Raickovic was featured in following publications: Magazine Yesenin Belgrade Collections of Poems: Cukarica Belgrade Seagull from Palic 2009 Rudnicka vrela 2009 Garavi sokak 2009 Acknowledgements: Second place Gathering of Poets in May, 2007, Frankfurt/M First place Zlatni orfej 2008 for the Meeting of Poets in Frankfurt/M poetry written in the Serbian language First place Gathering of Poets in May, 2008, Frankfurt/M poetry written in the German language Blue Medal acknowledgement for patriotism, Palic 2009 First place prose for children 2009 Cultural Meetings No. 23 in Frankfurt/M Praises for the poem Moment written in German May Gathering of Poets 2009, Frankfurt/M Magazines of the Number Seven Association A Book of Poems THE RETURN by Expatriates from Montenegro editor Milutin Đurkovic

38 NO19 SPECIAL PAGE 38 PRELISTAJTE IH OVDJE: Cijena jedne knjige Meki uvez 6 Eura/Evra Plus poštarina za BiH 5 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 2 Eura) U kompletu tri knjige 18 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 6 Eura) plus poštarina za inostranstvo 10 Eura/Evra Narudžba alternativanuova@gmail.com

39 NO19 SPECIAL PAGE 39 PRELISTAJTE IH OVDJE: Cijena jedne knjige Meki uvez 6 Eura/Evra Plus poštarina za BiH 5 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 2 Eura) U kompletu tri knjige 18 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 6 Eura) plus poštarina za inostranstvo 10 Eura/Evra Narudžba alternativanuova@gmail.com

40 NO19 SPECIAL PAGE 40 PRELISTAJTE IH OVDJE: Cijena jedne knjige Meki uvez 6 Eura/Evra Plus poštarina za BiH 5 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 2 Eura) U kompletu tri knjige 18 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 6 Eura) plus poštarina za inostranstvo 10 Eura/Evra Narudžba alternativanuova@gmail.com

41 NO19 SPECIAL PAGE 41 PRELISTAJTE IH OVDJE: Cijena jedne knjige Meki uvez 6 Eura/Evra Plus poštarina za BiH 5 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 2 Eura) U kompletu tri knjige 18 Eura/Evra (tvrdi uvez plus 6 Eura) plus poštarina za inostranstvo 10 Eura/Evra Narudžba alternativanuova@gmail.com

42 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 42 PRELISTAJTE IH OVDJE: CIJENA KOMPLETA OD 12 KNJIGA Meki uvez 72 Eura/Evra (TVRDI UVEZ PLUS 24 Eura/Evra) Plus poštarina za BiH 20 Eura/Evra UKUPNO: 92 Eura / 185 KM (plus cijena tvrdog uveza 24 Eura/Evra) PLUS POŠTARINA ZA INOSTRANSTVO 40 EURA Narudžba alternativanuova@gmail.com

43 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 43 A SINNER SPEAKS Listen my beloved ones, I apologize! Desire I, but kindness, to the face which was cruel to the kind, to the hands which slaughtered the innocent, and to the eyes that avenged the forgiver. Desire I, but forgiveness, for the mind that betrayed your trust, for the greed that demeaned your value, for the envy that feuded with friends, and for the anger that was bitter to the sweet. Illusion is a deceiver of reality, which deceived my own clarity. I tripped and fell on my way, so long as greed kept on making me gay, Treaded I, the path, in hope of the hopeless, and knew I not, when blinded, by the light of darkness. I ve known the heart of the deceived, for I m the only one to be deceived. I ve known the smile of the kind, for I m the one to whom you are kind. I ve known what it is to be forgiving to oneself, for I m the one who could never forgive myself. So, embarrassed, I speak of my innocence, though I know not, what it is to be innocent. And desire I, but love, for the heart, which hated your mirth. Name: ANAMITRA SARMA Father s Name: Arindam Sarma Contact Address: Apartment Rishi, Flat No.4C 262 Garia Main Road, Tentultala Kolkata , West Bengal, India Phone : / exceptional96@gmail.com Date of Birth: 22 nd July, 1996 Education: Studying in 9 th Standard Nationality: Indian So, Listen to me my beloved ones, Listen to me for at least once!

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46 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 46 A Burial Place in Bosnia (For Michael E. Berezovsky, the UN medical expert for Bosnia) By the skeleton you can t tell the ethnicity by the skull either you can do it only by the clothes if they haven t turned to dust then comes absolute equality these seeds won t bear fruit Anatoly Kudryavitsky is a Russian/Irish poet and novelist living in Co. Dublin, Ireland, and writing in both English and Russian. He has published three collection of his English poems, Shadow of Time (Goldsmith Press, 2005), Morning at Mount Ring (Doghouse Books, 2007) and Capering Moons (Doghouse Books, 2011), as well as seven collections of his Russian poems and a number of short stories. He has also published his anthology of Russian poetry in English translation, A Night in the Nabokov Hotel (Dedalus Press, 2006). His debut novel, The Case-Book of Inspector Mylls, was published in Moscow in 2008 by Zakharov Books; his short novel titled A Parade of Mirrors and Reflections appeared in Moscow s Deti Ra edition in ). His poems and short stories have been translated into twelve languages. He was the recipient of a number of literary awards, including Capoliveri Premio Internazionale di Poesia ( Italy, 2007), the Suruga Baika Prize of Excellence ( Japan, 2008), and the David Burliuk Award for his life-long commitment to experimental poetry ( Russia, 2010). Photo by : Peter Paul Wiplinger (Austria).

47 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 47 When siren falls in Love One summer night walked on the beach ( called by the sea ) Stopped for a moment Suddenly - I sow a siren.... I'm seeking for a poem like I'm seeking for his eyes When shadow of the sun in the dawn, woke me up. Climbing and hiding beneath the skin down at hole, still searching I couldn't resist. Melting with the sea as he walks thru the night Maybe moon can talk Oh, how I wish that now! Listening sounds... The nature is calling Another night without spring this lonely sky wont growing. My tail is so hard and so quiet, are my words Looking at the offing I feel the sea is blue. Must going... But still waiting, can't you see on this rock, I'll put my warm. It's sailed with the tear. When siren falls in Love her kisses you can see in the sky I was born in Split, Croatia. With my family I'm living in Trogir. I worked as a journalist, radio announcer and editor. Now I'm studing Administrative Law in Šibenik. I write poetry and poetry for children. Some of my poetry was published in: - ''Prvi izbor'' by: Mozaik knjiga ( school magazine for pupils from first to fourth class ordinary school ) poetry for children. - Knjigomat ( literature web magazine ) - poetry - Prozaonline ( literature web magazine ) - poetry - Balkanski knjizevni glasnik ( literature web magazine ) - poetry - Erato Collection ( International poetry contest. My song was published in the poetry collection. ) - Collection of Fifth Literary Meetinigs in Novosarajevo My song was published in the poetry collection of the contest. ) Contests: - ERATO International poetry contest - Fifth Literary Meetinigs in Novosarajevo International poetry contest ''Joan Flora 2011'' 2. place ( category: writers to 30 years old ) Every night, after midnight they are shining beautiful stars.

48 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 48 WE FOR YOU THE POEM OF OUR CHILDHOOD Fatal question Cute chickens Pink bicycle Nonexistent Santa Claus Dog s birthday Dangerous vampires Old rainbow Eternal days Lost hours Real illusions Colorful album Silent end. Location of shoes Granny s pony Rope for clothes Damaged computer Memory witch Behind the sofa Coffee in the garage House on the roof Gossiping time Little astronauts Wild turkey Strange herbarium Meadow path Borderline stone Young wedding Healing herbs Till the front door New school Some make-up Last year's sweets Radio show recording Spilled ink No summer Mute television Sixteen rockets My diridika Five minutes waiting Teacher's strawberries Hello Teletubbies Visiting the library The english workbook Fat girlfriend Arrogant boyfriend Eight o'clock journalists Table for teens My name is Andrea Lukenda. I was born on the 24th September, in Banja Luka, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Currently I live and study in Zadar, Croatia. I started with writing at the age of 9 and since then it's my passion.

49 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 49 Silence, darling Silence, darling Don t spill your warm breath Over the crevices on the floor, For it might impregnate darkness. Silence, darling Cover your ears with golden walls Don t let the sound creep in, Like a murderer in an alley. Silence, darling Stitch up your eyes, so there are no holes, Except for the bottomless one you hide, Like a dead body in a forest. Silence, darling Numb your fingers and glaciate Your mind, but don t delude yourself, There are no eternal moments. Silence, darling For I shall poke a hole In your soft, pink flesh And you will scream in silence. Silence, darling I see your breath oozing From your mouth in spectral rings, Resounding in silence, dissolving. Silence, darling It s all over now. Relax your epileptic body In my palm. I will protect you, For you have been a good girl Andrea Senci was born on 20 th October, 1985, in Subotica, Serbia. She graduated at the Faculty of Philosophy in Novi Sad, department of English language and literature, in Serbia in 2008, and has successfully defended her Master s thesis in English literature in 2010, also at the Faculty of Philosophy, Novi Sad. She has been writing since elementary school, having published several poems in the children s magazine Neven. She has participated in numerous poetry competitions and has had her poetry published in several magazines and online publications. In addition, several of her seminar papers, written during university, have been published (some in English, others in Serbian) as academic papers online, in ebook format.

50 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 50 THE TRAIN OF MY LIFE My life is a train. I have boarded and I still travel. My destination is the unexpected! My days roll on broken rails and the moments look like wagons which forgot to reach the station... Μy life is a train. A frantic trek on broken rails while I painted my dreams, and made art with the sounds of my life. A trip beyond the decay of time, the boredom of safety. And the painting was completed, but the colors haven t dried yet. The train of my life gallops. I look out of the window. The past passes very quickly. I say goodbye to every "why", "maybe" or "how" Every "must" was derailed. Now my desires are my new companions. My compass is the whistle of the train. Now an adventure waits for my train. It s time to travel without luggage and intermediate stations. My destination is the unexpected!

51 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 51 Name: Anna Surname: Ioannidou Father's Name: Apostolos Mother's Name: Helen City of birth: Thessaloniki Location: Alatsaton 32, PC 55132, Kalamaria, Thessaloniki Law Firm Address : 14 Vas.Olgas, PC 54640, Thessaloniki Occupation - Education: Lawyer member of Thessaloniki Bar Association and Political Scientist. Master s Degree in History, Philosophy and Sociology of Law, Faculty of Law, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. Languages: English: Certificate of Proficiency in English University of Cambridge French: Diplome Approfondi de Langue Francaise Dalf B1 - B3 German: Goethe Zertifikat Deutsch Italian: good knowledge Artistic Awards: - Third prize in the photography exhibition of Thessaloniki Bar Association with the title "Lawyer s life : Court, offices, services", (2010) - First Prize Nanas (Athenas) Kontou for the poem titled "Painting memories of life and death" in the first Greek nationwide poetry competition of North Greece Union of Smyrniots and Minor Asians, (2010) - First University Student Prize for the poem titled "Woman s soul of Kalavrita" in the Greek nationwide poetry competition "Athlon Poetry",(2009) - Award for the poetry collection of 24 Haiku titled "Far away" in 28 th literary contest of Parnassos Literary Society, (2010) - Praise for the poem entitled "Refugee s Monologue" in the Third Greek nationwide poetry competition of municipality of Hortiatis with the theme "Refugee", (2010 ) - Special honorable mention for the poetry collection of 30 Haiku titled "Cry of the children" in the poetry competition with the theme "Children's Rights" of the Associations "Oasis of the Child "(city of Heraklion) and "Social Initiative for Children "(city of Veria), (2010) - Honorable mention for poetry collection titled "Haiku : Hate like a Hurricane " in the first amateur contest of the International Federation of Constantinoupolitans with the theme "Words and Colors of Constantinoupolis", (2010) - Participation in the final stage of Delfi Poetry Games organised by the Greek National Union of Writers, (2011) Scientific awards: - First nationwide prize "Michailakis Award" for the study titled "The political environment of Eleftherios Venizelos during the period " in the competition of the National Research Foundation Eleftherios K. Venizelos, (2007) - Prize for the study titled "Youth and Entrepreneurship: Challenges, obstacles and prospects" in the 15th National Student Competition of Economic Journal of group Economia, (2008) - Distinction Theodore Valsamon and Georgios Rallis for speech in the the Conference of Faculty of Law of Aristotle University of Thessaloniki with the theme Ecclesiastical law and freedom of religion,(2008) Publications: - Study in the volume of award-winning studies "Youth and Entrepreneurship: Challenges, obstacles and prospects", ed. Kerkira, Athens, in the website of the scientific community the following studies : 1)The role of the International Court of Justice in the international community 2)The relation between state and citizen after 9/11 /2001 3)The individual right of property in the revolutionary Greek constitutions

52 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 52 Which one, of many, faces you wear Which one, of many, faces you wear, while wanders through one of, those places, that hidden, by silence and darkness, forces you just to whisper. Which one, of many, faces you wear, when alone and hurt, suffer in a helpless silence, rather than howl and weep. And, finally, tell me, which one, of many, faces you wear, when you're happy and content, when feels like almighty, and believes the whole world under your feet lays. COME BY CHANCE (CANADA) ANCHORAGE, 26. XII 2010.

53 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 53 Aron Baretić was born on in Rijeka, Croatia. As a continuation of a family tradition I have chosen seamen s profession for my own. Therefore I have spent last 22 years on the ships, 7 among as a Master of an ocean going tankers. Been writing a poetry in an early 20 s, although very different from the present one. So far, my poetry was published in: Web site "KNJIŽEVNOST.ORG" - Web site "SVIJET KULTURE - SVK MAGA- ZIN" - svk_magazin_03issuu? mode=embed&layout= v/light/layout.xml&showflipbtn=true Joint issue collection "Garavi Sokak 2010.", September Indjija, Serbia Antology ANTOLOGIJA XXI STOLJEĆA HRVATSKOG URBANOG PJESNIŠTVA" / ANTOLOGY 21 st. CENTURY OF CROATIAN URBAN POETRY. Web site DIOGEN PRO CULTURA magazine - Web site "NOVA POETIKA" - Joint issue collection "Noć Boema 2011.", April Indjija, Serbia Poetry journal Jesenjin (nr 89) Literary Club Jesenjin from Belgrade, Serbia Literary Review Vpogled from Žalec, Slovenia - &task=view&id=937&itemid=84 5. Novosarajevskih književnim susretima held on 04 th. 06 th. August In Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina &task=view&id=897&itemid=61 Joint issue collection "Garavi Sokak 2011.", September Indjija, Serbia My first own poetry book was published in July My second poetry book is completed, awaiting for publishing. Presently, I am writing my third poetry book.

54 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 54 POEM: IN THE NAME OF HONOR Everybody seems to be a stranger, when I see around, standing amidst the crowd Whatever I did there was no one who said I made them proud Living my life according to them I tried But none came to wipe my tears when I cried tie my conjugal knot with him, I pleaded except for this nothing from them I ever demanded they called my love as lust Told for a marriage the boy belonging to our community is must But how would love understand caste n creed To forget him my heart never agreed Warned me that society is about give and take Asked me what s in my heart merely for namesake The song-lonely, Mr lonely, I subconsciously sing Cursed me with harsh words even my sibling Gave me few months to forget my bonding of years Dint allow to contact even my close peers They raised questions on my character From my life, ordered me to close his chapter For the family s prestige, from me they needed a sacrifice, But how can I keep others happy, when I am not, by paying such a high price My only desire to get him, made them overlook my trophies, scholarships and gold medal Is someone listening, please give a tight cuddle They didn't realize the worth of my valuable laurels Owing to my nature, I avoided quarrels Seems that the one who writes destiny has gone on a vacation Now who will help me come out of this situation Struggling to live this life I wonder, I was happy as a daughter, as a sister, as a lover or I will be as a wife I am alone, running the race To tell about me, words are few.. in Colors my favorite is BLUE... I have a passion for creativity and innovation.. International Business is my specialization... I seek for perfection in everything I do.. what annoys me most is standing in Queue... in me, much more I gotta explore.. something useful and unique will definitely come out m sure.

55 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 55 Heretic in search of the Sun There was no I in yesterday. There is no I in today. Tomorrow, the cape of my thoughts will be estranged by some obscure figure that will walk down the dusty grounds, leaving the remains of the shell for ravens to feast. Scattered away by the black wings, small pieces will lie on mounds that guard the smiles of the people from various suns. Their rays, laid out on the spilled wax, will rest upon the soil which gave birth to the ocean. Now, I bleed from inside and pour myself into the core of infinite visceral fields, so I could only whisper: there is a name without a face... I kiss the part of the wall with "mimosa" imprinted on it by the skillful hands of some unknown caligrapher. Oh, how I detested that word until now! All until now, when I write stories about dogs with prosthesis instead of the legs and canvas that covers the rest. With the verses of Pharaoh's Hymn in front of me, the Pharaoh who tried to move the cliffs of the human dreams and reshape the silhoutte of his own skeleton, I shall float down the waterlogged pavements and watch the colorful balconies that belong to the families who's ornamental flowers fall into the vortex and silently decompose. I shall honor this way and wait for the people to dig the words gifted to the God Aten, left beyond the door. First name: Boban Family name: Gledović Place and date of birth: Pljevlja, April 14th, 1988, Montenegro Education: Graduated from Faculty of Political Science, Podgorica, 2011 Donation of books to The City library of Sarajevo from DIOGEN pro culture Magazine

56 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 56 What Good Are Poems? from Da Black Book of Linguistic Liberation by C. Liegh McInnis Can a poem be as effective as a.357? Can the images of a poem spray buck shot holes into the body of a greenback stuffed sheet wearing shoat? Can a poem be thrown as a brick through the window of a grocery store so that we may pillage and plunder its shelves for food for the hungry? Can a poem be laid on top of a poem, be laid on top of a poem, be laid on top of a poem until we have built a shelter for the homeless? Does a poem need a million dollar war chest or a foundation grant to be mightier than the sword? What good does a poem do a spoiled, bloated belly? Can a poem lay hands on the sick and clothed the naked? Can a poem work hoodoo on an ACT score? Can a poem pull the rent payment from a magician s hat? Can poems assassinate Negro turncoats who have sold their souls to racist rags? Can poems cut short the lives of serpentine superintendents who slyly suffocate African babies in Euro-excrement disguised as Caucasian curriculums? Poets are the African bees of pollination. Poems are the sperm of revolution. We need poets to stop adding extra syrup and sacrine to their sonnets so as to appease the pale palates of people who have not the stomach for the straight-no-chaser truth. We need poets to stop mindlessly masturbating away their talents into literary napkins. We need poets to start impregnating thoughts of Black magnolias bursting through white cement into the minds of Raven virgin souls who without it toil in the reproductive process of self-aversion. Poems are the sperms of revolution. Are you making love to your people, or are you merely fornicating away your existence?

57 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 57 C. Liegh McInnis is an instructor of English at Jackson State University, the publisher and editor of Black Magnolias Literary Journal, and the author of seven books, including four collections of poetry, one collection of short fiction (Scripts: Sketches and Tales of Urban Mississippi), and one work of literary criticism (The Lyrics of Prince: A Literary Look at a Creative, Musical Poet, Philosopher, and Storyteller). He has presented papers at national conferences, such as College Language Association and the Neo-Griot Conference, and his work has appeared in Bum Rush the Page: A Def Poetry Jam, Sable, New Delta Review, The Black World Today, In Motion Magazine, MultiCultural Review, A Deeper Shade, New Laurel Review, ChickenBones, Brick Street Press Anthology, and the Oxford American. In January of 2009, C. Liegh, along with eight other poets, was invited to read poetry in Washington, DC by the NAACP for their Inaugural Poetry Reading celebrating the election of President Barack Obama. He has also been invited by colleges and libraries all over the country to read his poetry and fiction and to lecture on various topics, such creative writing and various aspects of African American literature, music, and history. McInnis can be contacted through Psychedelic Literature, 203 Lynn Lane, Clinton, MS 39056, (601) , psychedeliclit@bellsouth.net. For more information, checkout his website

58 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 58 Angel heaven-sent Life is like a cold shower, And no man has that power To choose always the right step- Life is journey with no map. I don*t want to be full of hate, I am a girl who has faith. I don*t fall on a cheap trick, *Cause all life is pure nagic. I can love, I can shine, So strong! But can*t define. I have my own perfect place, My secret, hidden private space; Where all my problems I can switch, Where I am special, fairy, witch... There I am out of human touch, And I can love you so much! If love was colour, I*m colour blind, But I*m with you in my mind. You know for me what that meant: You are my angel heaven-sent. I*m running away from human affection, I need you and your protection. Far away I wish we went, Hug me, my angel heaven-sent... My name is D a j a n a Lazarevic. I am 18 years old, student of fourth grade in "Sabacka gimnazija". I live in Serbia, in The city of Sabac. This year I published my first songbook "Through space and time" in 500 copies. I won several prizes for poetry in my country, and my second songbook is preparing to print. I can write in English, German, Russian, Croatian and Serbian.

59 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 59 STRAP PARTS DOOM, DELIVER REVILED MOOD, A MAR ON A PANORAMA, AIR AN ARIA, PARODY DO RAP, PASSION, NO IS SAP, REVENGE BEG NEVER, JARRED ARTS SELL LESS, TRADER RAJ, ROT CAN ROB A BORN ACTOR. ARE WE NOT DRAWN ONWARD, WE FEW, DRAWN ONWARD TO NEW ERA? NO, IT IS OPPOSITION, SIDES REVERSED IS. WE PANIC IN A PEW NO, IT IS OPPOSED, ART SEES TRADES OPPOSITION, EVIL ODES OR PROSE DO LIVE, EVIL, A SIN, IS ALIVE, NO SIGN IN EVENING IS ON STRATEGY: GET ARTS! STRAP PARTS! BOMBARD A DRAB MOB! REGARD A MERE MAD RAGER! LIVE NOT ON EVIL! NEVER ODD OR EVEN! TRADE LIFE DEFILED ART! TO ROCOCO ROT! Starost: 35 godina Objavljivao u - časopisima ( Književne novine, , Avangrad, 2011., Poeta, 2011., Vidovdan, 2011., Erato nad Kucurom, , časopis za humor i satiru Šipak, 2011., Kusamakura Haiku collection magazine, ), - zbornicima ( Vršačko pero, , Poeti na dar, 2011., Žubori sa Moravice, 2011., Svetlost kresiva Banatsko pero, 2011., zbornik kratkih priča Kuće u vazduhu, 2010., Najkraće priče 2010., Žubor Mlave, 2011., Rudnička vrela Momčilo Nastasijević, 2011., Garavi sokak, ) - internet stranicama i magazinima (Nova poetika, 2011, Pljuskovi, 2011., Helly Cherry, 2011., Bašta Balkana, Thousand Poets for Change, ) Pesme, kratke priče, aforizmi i epigrami nagrađivani su na festivalu Vršačko pero 2009., konkursu kratke priče fantastike, naučne fantastike i horora magazina Helly Cherry, 2011., Međunarodnom Konkursu humora i satire u Mrkonjić Gradu, 2011., Književnom konkursu USKOR-a Dragan Žigić, 2011., Šesnaestom Kusamakura međunarodnom Haiku takmičenju, Kumamoto, Japan, 2011.

60 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 60 In a Park Drinking beer in city park means having at least one homeless man sitting next to you on the bench patiently waiting for you to drink the contents up so he could get his hands on the empty cans and get a return 0,5 kuna a piece. That makes me sad out of the following two reasons: Out of some king of compassion I mechanically try to drink my beer as fast as I can; The poor homeless guy inadvertently shows me a glimpse of a future which, if it didn't bypass his once normal life, has no reason to bypass mine. Thus when I hear our political leaders shout «What did we fight for?» in pre-election rallies, it makes me want to toss back a revolted answer: «For empty cans!» Daniel Radočaj was born in 1979 in Pula, Croatia. His aphorisms, poetry and short stories are represented in about thirty literary and cultural publications and anthologies from the area of former Yugoslavia. His work also appears among the ten best authors awarded at the ReCreativa contest (Banja Luka). He won third place at Ekran priče 02 contest, and cecond place at the Panonius Magazine's short story contest. His poetry collection «Četrdeset i četiri plus šezdeset deveta» was published in 2006 under the edition of Branko Miljković Literary Club from Knjaževac. He is a member of Croatian Writers' Association.

61 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 61 DARIUSZ PACAK -born in Lodz/Poland/. Living in Vienna/ Austria/. M.A. in Art &Culture /Poland, 1998 /. Professional StudiesProfessional Studies /Austria, 2000/. Member of fourteen literary associations, among others: World Academy of Arts & Culture WAAC /USA/,Union of Polish Writers Abroad ZPPnO/Great Britain/,Society of Polish Authors SAP/Poland/. Dariusz Pacak / visited 48 countries/ is an active ambassador for poetry between East and West in his search for truth and meaning through culture s interior, having attended a number of international festivals&congresses on poetry in America, Europe, Asia, among others: Bruxelles 2001,Warsaw 2001,Washington D.C. 2002, Taipei 2003, Vienna 2004, Seoul 2004, Los Angeles 2005, Taian 2005, Ulaanbaatar 2006, Stockholm 2006, Chennai 2007, Vienna Author of poetry collections: Ptaki Emanacji (Birds of Emanations) /Poland, 2001/, W Podruzgotanym Ciągu / Poland, 2003/, Polish-German: Dom Złotego runa-das Haus des Goldenen Vlieses (The House Of The Golden Fleece) /Poland, 2004/, Polish-English: Dojrzałość-The Seasons / Sweden, 2006/. He has held grants from The Ministry of Culture and Arts /Warsaw/, The Ministry of Research and Science /Vienna/ 1997, as well as many poetry awards, e.g. Warsaw 2001,Washington D.C. 2002, Vienna 2004, Los Angeles 2005, Tai-an /China/2005, Vienna 2006, Durgapur /India/2009. His poems are translated in eight languages & included in 40 World Anthologies. In literary magazines, Pacak has published over 100 essays & poetry publications, in English, German, Polish, Chinese, Korean, Mongolian, Czech, Slovakian. June 2011,Vienna "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION

62 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 62 Understand Aufstand In Every Land Part 1 Understand Aufstand in every land As the present order exposes decay Solutions are rare and hard to come by They're simply reforms to sustain capitalism The Revolution will be Facebooked and Twittered Faces become mugshots as people are booked Bodies twitch and twit in death Ecocide and genocide produces the caskets underside Understand Auftstand in every land Privileged atrophy of ideas Beliefs have become ossified Very soon humankind may become fossilised The fall of the West means the rise of extinction Extinction through execution Execution by drowning in plastic and petrol Petrology is the ideology of petrification Europe and North America is the petrified forest People are petrified and terrified Lost in the woods that have been terrorised Understand Aufstand in every land Devastation deforestation monoculture agricultural dictatorship Genetic seeds that amount to a hill of beans Agent Orange came from Tropic-Ana Juice Tampa Bay Devil Rays days of slavery Fallen trees and Indians roots drenched in blood Bought sold and traded on the stock exchange Punished and displayed in stockades Understand Aufstand in every land

63 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 63 Part 2 Burnt offerings hung high from trees Feiheiten on the rise overtaking the streets Understand Aufstand in every land Towering infernos of the empire in flames The far right takeover of Canada ignited in Calgary Crucified with the promised deliverance of Calvary No Buddha only pests found by Fidez Paramilitary home guards march and terrorise Understand Aufstand in every land Black skin white masks the horror of reality Reactionary media saturation negates human sexuality Crises of identity twisted benders of gender Scammed cheated and duped by Obama Hope and change on the dope exchange Patriot Act extensions sunset clauses on democracy Wall and Bank Streets reveal the oligarchy Engendered by torture human rights endangered Legal tender means In God We Trust Capitalist religion expressed through Olympic spiritualism Understand Aufstand in every land Revolting tyranny of revolving door nepotism In and out sadomasochist hard core pornography Submit to the domination of psychopathic sociopaths Or die by Nautical Robots shielded by badges Social polarisation increases in Wien Socialist vs Catholic vs Fascist vs Green Roma now Jews later subjected to pogroms Hungarian presidency reveals the EU program Self liberation will yield human emancipation Human evolution depends on collective consciousness Means living and acting with human conscience Understand Aufstand in every land! Der Kosmonaut was born and reared in New York City. He wrote his first poem when he was 9 years old. His first well known poem, Posters and Bulletins has been widely published and made into an electronic musical piece. Der Kosmonaut has written and published two online books: The Fall of New York and The King of the Woods. Der Kosmonaut has gained international attention through his travels and public performances. He specialises in multimedia performance art utilising most of his poetry. Der Kosmonaut has lived in 6 countries. He is active within the Vienna Slam Poetry circuit. He is the June, 2011 winner of the Slam B Poetry Slam competition at Literaturhaus, Vienna. He currently resides in Vienna.

64 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 64 To the dead poet of obscurity (In honor of the dead unpublished poet) Well done! You have won! You should not feel sorry. Your unpublished poems -always rememberhave not been buried, haven't bent under the strength of time. Like gold inside the soil they remain, they never melt. They may be late but they will be given to their people someday, to offer their sweet, eternal essence. Dimitris P. Kraniotis is an award-winning Greek poet. He was born in Stomio (Larissa), a coastal town in central Greece. He studied at the Medical School of the Aristotle University in Thessaloniki. He lives and works as a medical doctor (Internal Medicine specialist physician) in Larissa, Greece. He is the author of 7 poetry books: "Traces" (1985), "Clay Faces" (1992), "Fictitious Line" (2005), "Dunes" (2007), "Endogram" (2010), "Edda" (2010), "Illusions" (2010). He is Academician of the Pontifical Academy Tiberina of Rome (Italy), Academician of the International Academy of Micenei (Italy), President of 22nd World Congress of Poets (Greece 2011), Laureate Man of Letters by United Poets Laureate International, Doctor of Literature by World Academy of Arts and Culture, President of World Poets Society (WPS), Vice-President of United Poets Laureate International (UPLI), Ambassador in Greece of "Poetas del Mundo", National President of the Spanish-American Union of Writers in Greece, Universal Peace Ambassador, Vice-President of the Larissa Union of Poets and Writers, Vice-President of the Thessaly Association of Letters and Arts, Vice-President of the Larissa Medical Association "Hippocrates", Editorial Director of the Greek medical magazine "Hippocrates" and Member of the Editorial Board of the Greek literary magazines "Graphi" and "Pneumatic Larissa". He is member of several organizations (National Society of Greek Literary Writers, Hellenic Literary Society, Greek PEN Centre, Hellenic Society of Physician-Writers, International Society of Greek Writers, International Writers Association, etc.) He has won a number of international awards for his poetry which has been published in many countries around the World. His poems have been translated into 17 languages. His official website:

65 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 65 Homage to a poet Your words fill my breadths Winds, Winds, they interlace colors, senses, sounds, smells. Again I'm captured. I spell out the true names of the chambers and labyrinths of the heart. I need nothing now but a deep quietness.

66 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 66 Diti Ronen, born in Tel-Aviv, Israel, is a scholar and an artist. She is the author of three poetry books littlebird (Bar Ilan University, 2010, a bilingual Hebrew/English edition); Inner Moon, Notebook (Hakibbutz Hame'uhad, 2002), and With the Slip Showing (Gvanim, 1999). Her next poetry book, A Night Siècle, is about to be published in Her poems are taught in Academic Institutions, they are translated and published internationally, adapted for the stage and serve as lyrics for songs and as libretto for musical concerts. Ronen is regularly invited to perform readings of her poems in Academic Institutions and in International Poetry Festivals. Awards: In 2001 Ronen was honored with Ministry of Culture's General Manager Award, given for her exceptional contribution to the Israeli culture. In 2006 she was honored with The Golden Inkwell, given by The Hebrew Writers Association in Israel for her contribution to the Hebrew literature. Dr. Diti Ronen is a professor at The Hebrew University and at The Center for Academic studies. Her fields of interest are Poetry and Literature, Theatre, Cultural Policy and Arts Administration. Main latest publications of poetry in anthologies and magazines outside Israel Poets for world peace (# 3). Diogen pro culture magazine & DHIRA (Switzerland, 2011). Il Viaggio della parola. La stanza del poeta, Gaeta (Italy 2011). 119 / Web streaming poetry. Auropolis (Belgrade and Serbia 2010). Nashim. Indiana University Press, Philadelphia (USA 2010). With an Iron Pen. SUNY Press, Albany, New-York (USA 2009). Periódico de Poesía. Ciudad Universitaria (México 2009). Le Fram. Librairie Livre aux Tresors & Univesite de Liege (Belgium 2009). Kritya, a Journal of Poetry (India 2009). Main recent performances outside Israel Mandya 1st International Seminar on Holocaust Literature (India. Sep. 2011) Il viaggio della parola Il Mediterraneo in Poesia, Gaeta Festival (Italy. Apr. 2011) Dhvanyaloka Literary Club (Mysore, India, Dec. 2010) Sahitya Akademi (Delhi, India. Nov. 2010) Kritya International Poetry Festival (Mysore, India, Jan. 2010) Main essays & critics on Ronen's poetry Itamar Kest. About The "littlebird". Psiefas, 79 (2010) Yaoz Hanna. An interview with the poetess Dr. Diti Ronen. Sal van Gelder institution for holocaust research, Bar Ilan University (2009) Yaoz Hanna. Second Generation Poets: A conversation with Diti Ronen. Psiefas, 66 (2007) Yaoz Hanna. At the Sign of the Inner Moon: on Diti Ronen Two Poetry Books. Psiefas, 52 (2002) Gilboa Shulamith. Critic and Interview with Diti Ronen. The Literature and Art Supplement, the Book Week, Yediot Acharonot ( ). Ben David Yaara. The Ultimate Longing Apple. The Books Supplement (537), Haarez ( ). Almog Ruth. Who has given me birth, me too gave birth to a woman. The Supplement for Culture and Literature, Haarez ( ). Saari Rami. Scenes from the Circuits of Life. The Supplement for Culture and Literature, Haarez ( ). Levitan Amos. The Question of the Feminine Delight. Iton 77, 270 & 271 (2002) pp 34, 35. Ben Shaul Moshe. The Moon Circuits, the Monthly Period Circuits. Iton 77, 269 (July 2002) p10.

67 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 67 Human Relationships Sentiments rolled underfoot Hearts tied to mercenary bites memories the splutter of a choke Lost circles of smut in smoke We pass each other like trains Head nods costlier than smiles Goodbyes outrun hellos Baggage of loose ends untied Speaking roads that never meet You and I stroll call it a bond else maybe innominate relationships human like domestic flight taxiing across space Dr. Anusha.U.R. was born on October 26 th 1979 at Kerala and was educated in the former French colony, Pondicherry, India. I wrote my first creative writing when I was five years old. I have written 200 Poems and over 100 short stories. Academically, I was the gold medallist at the university level throughout the course of study. I completed my doctorate in English literature and literary criticism at the age of 26.

68 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 68 Eyes of the fallen angel Who broke the lock and let you out? You broke my silence with your roar and shout, don t draw me in with your eyes so profound I ll burn and bury you back underground. Ice for the soul, fire for lust when flesh is burned, spirit dissolves to dust now begging for pain, that is my pleasure in my agony is purity, your anguish I treasure. Unjustifiable existence of faith. Justifiable existence of hate. You think that I m the one who abandoned first? But the truth lies within your thirst. You know I m just your vanity so don t mistake me for reality. You revealed the way to cradle my fears mixed up with sweet sweat, blood and tears, for you I died a thousand deaths consumed with apathy I have no regrets. Justifiable existence of faith. Unjustifiable existence of hate. I m the first but never the last missing link in the chain of your trust and while your unspoken words resound in me for the crime of nailing me, I give to thee internal emptiness in your sanity infernal lust in your insanity open your eyes, no evil to see don t bleed for you, bleed for me Dragana Dimitrijević, was born in Bor, the town in Serbia, on the 10th of October She graduated from the Gymnasium in Bor in Now, she is living and studying in Niš at the Faculty of Civil Engineering and Architecture (soon to be the architectural engineer). She has been drawing and writing poetry since

69 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 69 Second poem of lust Fanfarelo, drunk with lust, unselfishly cleans louses to his dead dog. He smiles with a golden laughter, and surrenders to a melancholy. A sublime poem in the temple of his own dewy flesh he doesn't reach with reason but with vanity. Under the dome of plain, and night and day walk up to him as beasts starved by dreams and strong spirits. Deep in his own reflection he discerns: In his own luxury, again he have steped across the boundary, and wished for simplicity. When with rusty knife rubs his own swollen cheek whiped saints crie because this one-sided mercy. (The dog: whines.) I was concieved by accident, an got my name by accident. Dragoslav Čupić is my name. Born in Subotica. Lived in two more cities, and one village, until I with my parrents settled down in Novi Sad, in the early nineties. My poetry was published in different literary magazines. I was a member of a literary group "Zona", and took part in numerous poetry readings throughout the country. It's been a years how I withdrew from all kinds of public appearances, maturing like a strange fruit in a firm solitude of my existence. Member of Mensa Serbia.

70 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 70 f a n t a s y you're holding my hand smile in your eyes your waving hair's falling through the darkness the kiss stopped the word on the lips body of yours is a part of me in a moment swaying gently silver net's shivering across the sky and falls down and soars tender touch binds us strongly and talks and sings without a word through the sound of colors it whispers into the heights we're dragged by the abyss of sweetness thread of silk envelops the bodies our looks are embracing in the air doors are opened there are no barriers we're spinnin' slowly through the shiny darkness Born on 5th of November in Varazdin, Croatia. Education finished in Croatia: elementary school city of Lepoglava, middle school city of Varazdin, high school city of Cakovec. Occupation economist. Worked inside and outside profession, currently as designer in China, Fujian province. I started to write poetry at elementary school, but so far completed material only for first miscellany named «Memories and dreams»; which, I hope, shall be published in next few months.

71 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 71 Traveler In the hot desert, I search for dew. All because, I find my world in you. Although years back old, But the excitement is still new. My leg is getting weak, But my tiredness level is just few. In the cold snow, I try to gather heat. Simply to view your creation, From my seat. I am now wondering, Who keeps you so neat? Capturing your views from my eyes, I probably forgot to eat. In the heavy monsoon, I try not to get wet. Just because, I need to travel till late. It is good to watch you cleaning road, Cars and gate. Lessons I learnt from my travel, I will never forget. In the hot desert, I searched for dew. In the cold snow, I tried to gather heat. In the heavy monsoon, I tried not to get wet. I was a traveler, Although I did not record any date. But all I realized is, Today I woke up late.

72 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 72 BIO DATA Name: Dwaipayan Regmi Date of Birth: Chaitra 03, 2047 (March 17, 1991) Gender: Male Marital Status: Single Father's Name: Dr. Udaya Raj Regmi Mother's Name: Sima Regmi Address (P): Biratnagar-1, Morang. (Tel: ) Address (T): Chakupat, Lalitpur Address: Cell Number: Religion: Hindu Nationality: Nepali Languages Known: Nepali, English, Hindi, and Spanish (Learning) Blog: dwaipon.blogspot.com, dwaiipon.blogspot.com Academic Qualification Year Board Division Institute Other Trainings/ Courses Experiences Anchoring in BFM, Biratnagar SMS Program Quiz Program (Musical Quiz and General Quiz) SLC Special Program Various Live Coverages Involvement in Advertisement Editing Radio Advertisement Mixing Radio Advertisement (Using Cool Edit) Speaking in Radio Advertisement Writing in Newspapers Articles: SLC Distinction Arniko.H.S.School, Biratnagar HSEB (+2) First College Of Business And Social Studies (COBASS), Biratnagar 2066-Running Bachelors (BBA) - Shanker Dev Campus, Kathmandu Year Course Institute 2060 Basic Computer ITP Computer Institute, Biratnagar 2065 Graphics NIIT, Biratnagar 2066 TOEFL Orbit Int'l Education, Kathmandu 2066 SAT Orbit Int'l Education, Kathmandu

73 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 73 Radio transmission And then on my coldest winter nights I would listen to you My twin-soul ghost Secretly soothing my sobs into your voice So enchantingly eerie and balmy I would float breathless Through the mystic realms of your music - Fire and velvet - Longing to vanish into the sparkle of your eyes So familiar, yet unknown Silence falls unbearable now Broken melodies, voices unheard Vows of love never uttered Cast out by xenophobic cities There I m left all-alone Tracing signs of our primordial bond Craving for your music All-radiant to break through my closed window-shutters Spreading fragrant spring tunes all over again Name: Place of Birth: Studies: Occupation: Marital Status: Effie Daskagianni Arta, Greece - B.A. Degree on English Language and Literature, University of Athens. - Currently 2nd Year student on Creative Writing, for a M.A. Degree from the University of Western Macedonia, Florina, Greece. English Teacher at a State High School in Nafplio, Greece. Married, no children.

74 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 74 The Ballad of Smart Efrat Oh, why can`t you grasp, my daughter, Efrat? Oh, why can`t you grasp, my smart daughter? "A body of water would not run ashore, mother. Let me push higher. My strength in my breath, mother, not in my brain. Let me light my own fire "Oh, where is the wave, my daughter, Efrat? "Oh, where is the wave, my smart daughter? The definite article breathed down my neck, mother, Let me aspire, My strength in my breath, mother, not in my brain. Let me light my own fire "So how did you get, my daughter, Efrat? "So how did you get,, my smart daughter? " I cluched and I clung to the thin tree of life, mother. Let me desire. My strength in my breath, mother, not in my brain. Let me light my own fire Did you look in the leaves, my daughter, Efrat? Did you look in the leaves, my smart daughter?" "The roots are green-sick, mother. Let me taste my own haste. My strength in my breath, mother, not in my brain. Let me light my own fire "Oh, you searched for the green, my daughter, Efrat. "Oh, you searched for the green, my smart dauther. " I did - and its blight, mother. Let me make my mistake. My strength in my death, mother, not in my brain. Let me light my own pyre Translated by: Gilad Elboim Efrat Mishori, Poet, PhD in Philosophy, was born in Israel in She has published seven volumes of poetry among which As far as Efrat (1996), Bites of Little Fish (1999), The Physical Mouth (2002), Sigh and Sigh (2008) and a fairy tale in verse for children, receiving the Israeli Prime Minister s Prize for Literature in In 1997 Mishori composed I am the Model of Poetry, a one-woman show including pop music, and calls herself "an anti-poetical poet involved in an intimate relationship with language". Mishori's dissertation (2006) deals with Tel-Aviv as a transitional-object of the poet. Her new poetry book Thinkerbell will be published later this year.

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76 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 76 GOLDEN EANGLE And turning around the wings and I go away without leaving scars in a distant greeting Looking spend radiation of turbulence heaven design around the star the infinite thirst match with the arrow of stellar dust the unknown scar When you blend the Suns leave free the wind bare earth broad wing flames in the sky with juvenile reflections and vertigo a net gold darkness and light entrap Between two blue pages, flocks of birds Stars tears forgotten realms there to join together the heavens in God look shadow of the wing tips Cyclic Iridescences Golden Eagle at unimaginable speed wandering travel Eftichia Kapardeli was born in Athens And live in patras.she wrote poetry,stories,topics, Xai-kou, essays,novels. She participate in chorus like soprano She gratuation from deparment in journalism A.K.E.M (Athenian center vocational education). She participate a lot of many education seminars She know H/Y 7 programs,english and Italian, classic kithara And study right voice She was guide in the body of hellenic girl scout She is volunteer firewoman and participate in programs Volunteer active Like listener student she follow the 2004 the deparment filology of University patras. She has rewarding in panhellenics competitions poetry,topics, stories, Novels,fable,xai kou She take discernement in her book *secret march*(novel) From D.E.E.L and *sikeliana 2006* (salamina) UNESCO Her work publication in magazines in Literaries The first poetics collections is *confindings of secrets* and *light* She is have one paper in university of cyprus {the creek civilication} She is member in world poets society{w.p.s}the official website is member internasional writers associations president Teresinka pereira Adress ME- ZONOS 229 TK TELEphone INTERNET : htt://durabond.ca/ gdouridas/poetryarkadia.html kapardeli@gmail.com profile.php?id= #!/profile.php? id=

77 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 77 FRIENDS Felons sow deep sadness everywhere We clash with sludge every day I am seeking a friend to express them my disruption The poet and the river are my mates. I observe their stoic march Every wave, every string talks to me The world is full of hatch wastes Thus, hit them my poet friend. This area with full of movement Thus, take things easy, without tear Your word is a scorching fire My friend, you are not a dumb mare. Incidentally, I was born (without my wish) in a village Polog Valley, Sëllarcë e Epërme, Tetovo, on February 1, 1957 (uh freezing), and the culprits brought me into this world, come from the village of Rakovec Sharr Mountains, where I have relatives wide. My literary stutter started sinca school banks (I say this because most of the creators claim so), maybe even earlier, but I don't remember.

78 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 78 SYMBOLS OF STATUS Friends and family are symbols of status like wax figures in the Madame Tussauds cabinett They are sour cucumbers in a jar witch seldom opens One ocasional pedestrian is going to save your life anyway one ocasional pedestrian has more chances to walk you home Eleonora Luthander is poet and swedish translator. She was born on 9 th february 1954 in Krusevac, Serbia. Twenty years old, she married swedish journalist, Per Luthander. They have one son and one daughter. She became dip. ecc, after finishing her studies on Economical faculty in Belgrade. She lived also in Budapest, Munchen, Moscow and island Hvar in Croatia. Nowadays, she is mostly living in Stockholm and Montenegro, where she found her relativs in the willage Chevo. She has written 28 books of poetry and translations of poetry. Eleonora Luthander is represented with her two books of poetry in swedish language in the Nobel library in Stockholm. She has written seven books of poetry in swedish language. Eleonoras books and poems are translated to several different languages. She takes part in Poetry slams, she makes poetical performances on her own, and she makes as well special ikebana out of origami flowers with her haiku poems written on.

79 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 79 SUMMER FISSURE July was dawning and the abruption was spreading with the first sunrays within the irritable aspects of the soul. You preferred the Ionian sea like a Ulysses returning to your Ithaca with an aged love I am loyal to the Aegean sea storing nostalgia into tiny jars. Messages are trickling from the wings of the birds down a proof we are not forgotten even if in the depth of the road is maintained the menace of the lost of the entirely alien; you will always say into the blue of sea everything seems to be easy everything attainable. Elissavet Chartavella was born in Thessaloniki, in She is studying at the School of Philology at A.U.Th. (Aristotle University of Thessaloniki). She has been awarded from Greek Poetry and Literature associations (such as Panhellenic Union of Writers, Literary Group Ideopnoon, Cultural Association of Harkia). Her poems have been hosted in Diasporic Literature Spot. She is a member of the literary group Informal Club of young writers.

80 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 80 Donna You have appeared so suddenly, and like a mother who allready losted her soul, I took you on my chest from where I have kissed you, ow, i have kissed you so! You were so small, but it was I, who was the weeker-so it seems. Into your eyes I would stear in a search for the beautiful dreams. I watched you as you grow, and I have counted down the days, as every mother does till her child find the first words to says. You have grown up so fast, and like a real child u have wounderd the world. you have kissed every leaf, every tree, and every flower who is allready dry and cold. That was happiness, those playings with you - just YOU! I was calm when I would give you my hand, and you give me your pow back too. You were more than just a dog, you were an angel, sweet and dear, I looked forward to come home, where your bark always I could hear. I would sing you for a sleep, and you would had my finger between your teeth. My hearth would get fester, till I could not sing no more, and till i could not breed. And now you are gone... Everything seems so empty and cold. The richest happiness seems like someone who is begging for a penny of gold. But i know, i should not think so negativ, you have learned me at least that, Not to say - I had no time, because I would not have it when comes to the moment of death. I cannot say, if this is just game of desteny, or humans hands were those who took you away, But my angel, now you are in your world, happy and for you I will pray. Too rude was this world for somenone who is sweet like you. For some mistakes I blame my self, yes I blame my self - ow just how I do! And I loved you! My soul took you as a second body. And it hurst this air, which is pooting on your parfume, smell of someone else - smell of nobody... For souch a short time, you have left so much love. Too much! Ah, the sadness could not be able to go through it, and my soul to touch! And you are still there, in my arms, and you are kissing my face everafter, and you are still looking at me, and you are making that silly doiggy laughter. Even if it hurts, I am thankfull, I can proudly say. coz I could learn how to love more than a human, on the way she loved me - on the dogs way. And what it hurst the most, is that screeming voice saying that On the street hitten by a car, dog was lieing. People sawed just a dog, but over a human body, I was crying.

81 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 81 My name is Ema Bijedic and I was born on the Jun the 20th in Sarajevo. I will not speak a lot of my Childhood, because there was too much of the war scenes, but only what I have to say to this time is, that it has learned me to respect my perents who gave all they had to keep me and my brother on the life. I have learnd also how crule could a man be, but also that has learned me - never to became one of those kind of people, who kill, take and never give. I was moving a lot of times from place to place, and never had a chance to meet a lot of peaple - or better say - to keep them arround me for a long. That is main reason why I have started to write, to paint and to dance in early ages of my life - to kill the silence. I was just a normal child, till i started to go to University. My mother has got a cancer, and my University was to expenisve. I got scholarship, and to keep it I had to have hig everage of my notes. First semester i have made it 3.9 of highest 4, but just before the finals was my brother sent to the jail. It was extreemly schocking and I have made the exames horribly. I have lost my scholarship, my mother was not going good. I decided to move to germany where I have worked one summer to start all over. I have worked first time as housekeeping because i could not speek German. I have earned so money for my school of German, and till now I have made it to the level C1 and I have become my licence that I am allowed to study. Because I have earned so little, i could not see my parents so often, and they could not travel because my mama. She needed medicines, but we had no money... It took to long and it has hurted so much, that no one has made it even to offer a help... I wanted to come to see her, but 10 days before my comming, she gave up... I gave up my writtings a year ago, here in Germany, but mamas death reminds me that I have live for writting, and it reminded me how we tried for years to publish my book... I want to go on with my writting, and to make a book about my mother, and to describe all she went through, and to tell in her name, how woman could be gentle, strong, nice and all what a women has to be... I will tell you a poem about my dog, that my mother loved so much, a dog that needed to hear a song before going to sleep. I will tell a song about a dog which we have lost just in the time when we had our best times... But also it has learned us something.in the memorry of my mama and my Donna, I will say this song : Donna ( in Bosnien and in English ).

82 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 82 To live to see you die I d like to live to see you die, to watch how they bury you and how you vanish in the soil forever. I d like to live after you, so that I ll remember you. I d like to live to see you die, that s how much i love you. Invitation for Bosnia and Herzegovina poets: Ernad Osmić is a Bosnian author of poetry, short stories, film scripts, plays, novels as well as works of literary criticism, essays and works of literary theory. He's also an author of short films, which brought him several awards. His short film Brücken zwischen Deutschland und Bosnien (Bridges between Bosnia and Germany) won him first place in the German Language Olympics of 2007 in Sarajevo. is short film Samoubistvo iz zasjede (Ambush Suicide) got first place in Džepni Festival 2011 in Mostar. He is currently studying Bosnian language and literature at the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Tuzla, and is the representative of the youth in the Culture and Art society of his hometown Brčko District.

83 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 83 O, One Day You Will Ask Welcoming misty spring The bluebells sweetly ring Come quickly and listen The love songs of Eden Listen or you will miss The transition of this Sleepy, sleepy winter To a spring of wonder The love songs of Eden Come quickly and listen The bluebells sweetly ring Welcoming misty spring Missing it, one day you ll ask, Where did my heart go? Ernesto P. Santiago is just a poetry enthusiast, who loves and enjoys exploring the poetic myth of his senses. He thinks, Poetry is a global temperature that will always surprise us. His poetry has received many international poetry prizes from countries including Japan, Italy, Romania, Canada, and the United States.

84 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 84 The zircon goblet Flame was the name of my obsession Flame, the blue, Flame of love Flame became purple of my compassion Flame the green Flame of spirit Flame was sparkling, my impression Flame of eternity Flame transparent glow The goblet became full The blood turned life The Calla was my move The Lilly of heaven The mist unfurled heavy The dust turned cloud The jewel remained beneath is precious The soul you keep turned LOVE We. Drink. In. Tribute. I. Die. Surely. But. Slowly. We. Feel. In. Unison. She. Embraces. Me. Motherly. Alas. Tonight. I m. Drunk. Of. Love. The. Zircon. Goblet. Outpoured. Blood. The. One. That. Transforms. In. Life. For. Ages. The. One. Lives. For. A. Day. And. Eternity. More. Translated by Atdhe Rama "SEEKING FOR A POEM" INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITION

85 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 85 * Short bio Born in Rahovec, South East of Kosova, in graduated at Prishtina University, Oriental Studies. M.A. in Literature. PhD in Sacral Estethics- ongoing Actively works on Calligraphy discovering new mediums and techniques for this specific for of plastic art. Published books: NUN- collection of mystical poems, 1996 author s edition, INVISIBLE PLURALITY- Poetical prose, 2000, author s edition NEKTARINA- Novel, Transcendental Epic, 2004, publishing House, Rozafa Prishtinë- project of Ministry of Culture Sport and Youth of Kosova ELEMENTAL 99- Short poetical mystical stories, 2006, Center for positive thinking, Prishinë KUN- collection of transcendental lyrics, 2007, Publishing House LOGOS-A, Skopje, Macedonia Issues on papers and magazines: The Book of Poetry E-Book in London, UK The book of Poetry in Nadwah Press, Hong Kong; Poetry on Magazine of Center for Humanistic studies GANI BOBI, Prishtinë Essays on Journal Oriental Studies, Kosova Orientalist s Association. Poetry in Magazine STAV- Tuzla, Bosnia and Herzegovina; Poetry in Magazine ZIVOT- Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina Poetry in Magazine ULAZNICA- Zrenjanin, Vojvodina; Poetry in Magazine URRA- Tirana, Albania Poetry in Magazine POETA- Belgrade, Serbia; Poetry in Magazine, ISTANBUL LITERARY REVIEW, Istanbul, Turkey Poetry in Magazine, MOBIUS MAGA- ZINE, New York; Poetry in Magazine OBELISK, Tirana, Albania THE WORLD POETS QUARTERLY (multilingual) VOLUME No. 58 THE WORLD POETS YEARBOOK 2009 Poetry at Sarajevske Sveske 2010, Sarajevo, Bosnia; Poetry in Belgrade, Serbia; Poetry at verinfo.asp?id=6873, Santiaogo de Chile; Poetry at p=1794, Gotteborg, Sweden; Poetry at publishingpictures.htm, Brussels, Belgium Poetry at USA; Poetry at Athens, Greece; Poetry at com.aspx, Albania; Poetry at m/, Istanbul, Turkey; Poetry at Tirana, Albania; Poetry at vires-sufi-alegre-encontro-com.html, Brasil y/fahredin_shehu.htm, Hong Kong Poetry Romanian version Bucharest, Romania; Poetry at /Theophany_, Bucharest, Romania Poetry and profile at Carty s Poetry Journal Dublin, Ireland; Poetry at London Poetry in English on The Sound of Poetry Review, Argentina om/2010/04/26/fahredin-shehu-kosovarpoet/; Poetry at _poetes-d-europe-fahredin-shehukosovo.html, Paris, France; 12/poetes-d-europe-fahredin-shehukosovo.html, Paris, France; Poetry at 02/12/poetes-d-europe-fahredin-shehukosovo.html, Zwitzerland; Poetry at Tribune de Geneve, Geneve, Switzerland; Poetry and Calligraphy at World Art Friends, Portugal,; Poetry at Fahredin-SHEHUhttp:// hredin, Publisher, Patric Cintas, Revue d Art, et litterature, Musique, Paris, Franc; Poetry at Salvador; Poetry at 5/fahredin-shehu-one-poem.html; Poetry at Salvador; Articles in Istanbul, Turkey; Articles in Strasbourg, France; Books at creator%3a%22fahredin%20shehu%22, USA; Participations:; Exhibition of Calligraphies in Cairo, Egypt, 2004; Sarajevo 44th Poetry Meeting, Sarajevo 2005; Congress on 600 th anniversary of the work of Abdurrahman Ibn Khaldun, Cairo, Egypt, 2006; Meeting for the ethnic minority rights, European Parliament, Bruxelles, 2006; Exhibition of paintings and calligraphies at the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, Cairo Egypt, 2007; Participation on the Congress on 800 th anniversary of a Persian Poet RUMI, organized by UNESCO/Albania and Saadi Shirazi Foundation, Tirana; Participation at the International conference on Islam and Balkan- Identity and building bridges, Canakkale, Turkey; Participation at 13 th International Sheikh Tousi Conference, Qom, Teheran, Mashhad, Iran; Participation at Conference on Regional Cooperation, Kopaonik Serbia; Debates on national KTV, RTK, TV BESA, TV 21; Artists Profile KULT, AVENY on RTK Public Broadcaster; Interviews for all nation wide Electronic Media and Press; ari_qe_hap_porta_te_reja/ Translated in English, Italian, Serbian, Croatian, Bosnian, Roma, Swedish, Turkish, Arabic, Romanian Ambassador of Poets to Albania by Poetas del Mundo, Santiago de Chile Member of World Poets Association Member of the Publishing and Editing Committee, at the Kosovo Ministry for Culture, Youth and Sport. Member at the Kosovo PEN Center Executive Director of The Center for promoting Intercultural Dialogue OXOR Works in Administration of Radio Television of Kosova RTK * without prejudice to positions on status / is in line with UNSCR 1244 and ICJ opinion on declaration of independence

86 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 86 GRAY Was Been A Gray Day In A Gray Summer In A Gray Year In A Gray World A Day When She Yawned A Gray Thought Her Face Was Sulky Depressed&Sad &Music Was Waves Faded Out in August Agony Through The Garden & Trees Where In Gloomy Intervals Silent Marble Queens Pondered About Death Until To Die In The Prone Sky & Defeated From Rain Season Embrace & From Death. Francesco Antonio Perdona', Italian, 51's old, is living and working in San Antobio, Texas, USA - where is attending to his music (as Arte Sacra Atelier releasing for several underground labels) and writings. Nothing important to say about his life: he just lives doing what he wants.

87 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 87 To Pluscarden Abbey O what a place of peace, a place undaunted - a place of beauty very much like heaven, a place beyond what words can speak or utter in Moray s setting, holy Pluscarden! When sadness pierces through my heart, and gloomy the day becomes and sunshine disappears, I think of you, o paradise of Scotland and into naught dissolve my pain and fears. What lies within these walls is beyond wonder, a wonder that God only understands, a wonder that the skies have never pondered or eyes have seen, or touched have human hands. Blessed are you most northern of all abbeys that keeps the Rule of holy Benedict; Never will I forget the joy you brought me a joy which thought and word cannot depict. Fr Geoffrey G. Attard (1978- ) was born in Ħ Attard, Malta, to Joe M. and Maria née Zammit. Hailing from Victoria, the main town of the picturesque island of Gozo, Attard was educated at the State s primary and secondary school in Victoria. Finished his studies at the Sir M.A. Refalo postsecondary, Geoffrey entered the diocesan Sacred Heart Seminary to further his studies for priesthood, where he obtained his B.A. in Theology. In June 2004 he was ordained priest at the Gozo Cathedral. He celebrated his first Solemn High Mass in his own parish church, St George s Basilica. Soon after ordination, he went to Scotland, where he started an M.A. course in History of Theology at the University of Edinburgh. He is now studying for an M.Litt. at the University of St Andrews, Fife, while giving his pastoral service at St Francis Friary, Dundee. Attard has cultivated a special love to writing and reading from an early age. Many are his literary works ranging from articles and translations to poems and hymns that have been published on local and international reviews, not to mention the books he has already published. You can enjoy some of his poems on

88 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 88 B U R N I N G F L O W E R S ( V I E N N A ) Night train to Vienna riding through the foggy countryside; outside the darkness and the rain, inside the shadow and the pain you've forgotten the fire but the flames still burn in the night so bright it has happened before so it can happen again. Burning flowers in the empty streets at midnight whatever happens it has happened before, long ago we were just burning flowers while the shadows gathered among us we were just burning flowers right before the storm. Another night on the road from Berlin to Vienna all the way to Vienna we were dreaming of the past. The past lies ahead the future's left behind us; no room for the present in this glorious scheme of things. Well, these flames still burn in the night so bright; has it happened before? or will it happen again? George Nikolopoulos was born in Athens, Greece. He has published two poetry books (Glass Boats, Athens, 2010 and Missed Opportunities, Athens, 2011) and one children s novel (Three Princesses, Nicosia, 2010). Many of his poems and short stories have been published in anthologies, literary magazines, newspapers, e-magazines, literary sites and blogs in Greece, Cyprus, the United States, Australia and Albania. He is a member of many Greek and international literary societies. He has participated in many literary festivals and book presentations in Greece and abroad. His interviews have been published in magazines in Greece and Cyprus and aired in Greek radio stations. He has been given 45 awards in Greek and international literary competitions.

89 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 89 METAPHORS FOR NOTHING You had been at me I led you to see the river. Where is the water of your run ; we go together again, rosy domes tonight beyond our images sweet by azure sugar, like the angelical wings. Every time at the end of the day, and then I don t know if the night is more fine than dawn, its verity is a land without paths. Bizarre angel, you march over the roofs of dreams, I picture to myself your run was wearing the time of wish. A 53-year-old italian poet, Adria born and living in Padova. He carries out two professions, pediatric surgeon and racing-driver too. He has published four collections of poems: Solo immagini,il motore del tempo,mnesis,assoli di oboi,ruote Alate. Last July 2011 he was won the Grand Prize of Mediterranean Poetry (Larissa - Greece) and the Prize Città di Lerici. Its own poetry appears necessarily and guides its hand of writer.

90 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 90 The vibrant youth Dizzying length of legs, and perfect aplomb of the body : from the springboard a sudden launch to glorious winging arabesquing in the sky long immemorial moment irremediably downwards she plunges into cool waters and disappears. too soon. new mermaid of the pool : a mysterious breeder of storms now underwater Juliana Lucchini (Rome). She has published books of poetry: one in Italian, and one in English. Her poetry has been translated poetry in English, French, Spanish. Collaborates with magazines through poems, articles, reviews, essays. She has edited anthologies. Readings on CD. Video-poetry.

91 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 91 Dust and water Soon the night will come. You will succeed to leave the labyrinth. There are a lot of masks and it is true that we are nothing but dust and water. The earth is waiting for us. Defend me from the wind and from the scythe that will cut me in better times. Southwards, at noon, I shall be free just like the sun that rises every morning. Name: Gonzalo Tomás Salesky Lascano Short biography: I was born in Cordoba, Argentina in I published two books, entitled 2011 and Presagio de luz. I got distinctions in literary contests in the U.S., Spain, Mexico, Venezuela and Argentina. Website:

92 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 92 *** I am committing myself to nothingness Lowering my bags In a coupe (compartment) Train started in silence To arrive nowhere Not to speak ever again To fall asleep and oversleep a station Not to ever wake up I am committing myself to nothingness So that everythingness can stop Sound to turn off Not to hear words To walk silently and invisible To disappear completely I am committing myself to nothingness In the name of every everythingness In the name of dolor and moment Happiness and eternity Not to hear trumpet (horn) for alarming Or a funeral I am committing myself to nothingness With all of his teeth That are gnawing, some are saying That are biting, they saw And cankering ears, they felt To turn off sound completely

93 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 93 Gordana Smuđa - Master Studies of Dramaturgy, Faculty of Dramatic Arts, University of Arts Belgrade. Member of Drama Artists Association of Serbia. Writing for cultural magazine Povelja, collaborator in theatre newspapers Ludus, magazine Status, Belgrade, Serbia (since 2005), magazines MS (Marketing Serbia) and White ( ), weekly magazine Vreme (2006)... - Attended many courses, masterclasses and workshops: WRITING: BELEF, Belgrade Summer Festival Creative Writing Workshop: New Text Formation, 2007; Screenwriting in Hollywood, Prof. Milan Zivkovic, screenwriter&director in Hollywood, Faculty of Dramatic Arts, Belgrade, THEATER AND RADIO Critic for 45. theatre festival Joakimfest, Shabac, Serbia, 2009; Radiophonic and non-verbal radio plays: Hear, See, Move - Preshevo, Serbia: Dramaturgy for radio plays Snow White and The tragedy of 09/ , Theatre workshop Strange Is Beautiful, Connewitzer Kreuz Cammerspiele Theatre, Leipzig, Germany, Workshop with theatre group Acropol - Dramaturgyst and actor in performance Relations, Alexadria, Egypt, DOCUMENTARY FILM: Archive Material in Documentaries - Adrian Vood, Legal Aspects in Documentary Filmmaking - Hubert Best, Arhidoc; Jorgen Leth and his method; Basic Strategy in Writing Theoretical Works on Documentary Film, Bill Nichols - IDFF, International Documentary Film Festival, Jihlava, Czech Republic, Jon Alpert Ethics in Documentary Filmmaking - ZagrebDox, International Documentary Film Festival, Zagreb, Croatia, Steve James Estetics and object of movie directors interest - Peter Wintonick, IDFA, International Documentary Film Festival, Amsterdam, Netherlands, Marcel Lozinski, Polish director and proffesor at Andzej Vajda School, ZagrebDox, International Documentary Film Festival, Zagreb, Croatia, Atelier Leonard Retel Helmrich Ethical values and film engagement; Atelier Claire Simon Directors method: Representing life as a legend - Visions du Reel, International Film Festival, Nyon, Switzerland, Italian film and language - Dante Alighieri, University, Reggio Calabria, Italy Programme Editor, Selector, PR and producer for Beldocs, International Documentary Film Festival, Belgrade WORKS: Author of theatre plays, screenplays and theoretic works about film and theatre, poems and stories Published Poetry: Treci trg, Internet literary and art magazine ( No.15. BELEF, New text formation, July/ august, Short Story: Izvan horizonta, 2011, Karver, Podgorica, Crna Gora RECOMENDATIONS: Winner of poetry award Vladislav Petkovic DIS, for best book of poetry, Ministry of Education-scholarship for the Scientific and Artistic Youth Ministry of Education and Sport, scholarship, October University Dante Alighieri, Reggio Calabria, Italy, Scholarship, LANGUAGES: Serbian, English, Italian, German, Russian

94 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 94 A QUESTIONS FOR THE EXECUTOR How difficult it is to find words for: - I don t understand. How reckless it is to say: - I don t know. Can t do. In the world of Cyclops, small children and wraiths on earth of fog, fake flowers and ants. Bowing my head in shame and breaking my fingers I pray they squash me before the eclipse to remember my executor s irises when they declare me an experiment. When they resurrect me as a clone to recognise him and kiss him between the vines of dark eye brows and ask him where does he hide the roll of Covenart? Know what I wont? I wont a home. One cherry tree. One dog. And one me for one man.

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96 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 96 Guilt He came from her He was a part of her And now he s gone People say What a tragedy He died saving her She always loved him And he Was the only one who loved her Despite her mistakes Despite her faults He loved her People say What a tragedy He died saving her Her sorrow Swallowed By her guilt She feels undeserving And he Was the only one who loved her Despite her mistakes Despite her faults He loved her And now he is gone She is here My name is Haimanot Haile. I am from an East African Country by the name of Ethiopia. I recently graduated from high school. I am 18 years old. I have an interest in writing and my poetry has been published in analogies before, through completions held by Young Writers and Forward. I enjoy writing because it is freeing and I am able to also but myself in others shoes and write from there perspective which helps me understand people better and hopefully help other understand.

97 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 97 Taut In the epicentre of a word something equivocate twinkles between lids of eyes and quakes its head to make itself understood The flutter echo spearheads into the sequel of a side effect just as the meaning leaps and settles in your lap loudly purring /man sound asleep and pillow-drooled/ how deburying? One dauntless one taut Hana Volakova, born in 1979 in Sumperk in the Czech Republic. Got her degrees in Foreign languages for Commercial Purposes and Theory and Philosophy of Communication at University of West Bohemia. Regularly contributes her poems to Czech amateur web sites such as Litweb and Liter.cz using her pseudonym Dota Slunska. Her poetry has been influenced mostly by motives of nature and people, who can feel the width of the world around through their own weeknesses and embarrassments and view it as a precious gift, which enriches them and opens them to new emotional experience and above all to themselves. Apart from writing poetry, she is interested in painting, taking photographs and pottery.

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99 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 99 LOVE IN ASHES Vesuvius sore throat has been bursting for days Drizzling from the open tomb. Ash rain Has drowned town squares, shrines, plowed fields. I come To take you away from the town. I look at your face Wilted from tears and weeping. You refuse to leave your mother And father and sick brother. On the porch of the ancient Etruscan Shrine, covered in a thick cream of ash, Our hands reached out, thighs collided, lips Sought for salvation before air turned into fire. A night as long as aging is ahead. Recollection of light Fades in the pupils. Doves no longer fly out in the evening. Blinded by the heated air, by the black sun, We hear the ground thunder, the town scream We disappear altogether. My arms raised above In prayer pleading to the Gods. When the Light Returns again we will be asleep, turned to stone. Translated from Serbian into English by Jelena Šegan IGOR REMS, poet and painter, born in Bar/ Yugoslawia,Montenegro-Crna Gora Published the following books of poetry: At the Gates of Heavenly Kingdom, 1996 Wild River, 1996 Towns, 1998 Pilgrimages, 1999, 2004 (second, supplemented edition) Wallfahrten, 2005 Blinded by Light, 2007 Colors Sleep in the Fire, 2008 The Secret of Etruscan Silence, 2009 The Woman Who Is Not Out There, 2011 Literary awards: Charter of Rastko Petrovic, 2000, Beograd (Serbia) Naji Naaman, international literary award, 2003, Libanon Kocic s Pen, 2006, Banja Luka, Republika Srpska (Bosnia and Herzegovina) Irin Pirin, 2009, Bulgaria NOSSIDE World Poetry Prize- 2010, Extraordinary Mentions, Reggio di Calabria, Italy - Translated into German, English, Polish, Macedonian and Bulgarian. - Member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, Association of Writers of Montenegro and the Association of Writers of Germany. Has had several independent and group exhibitions in Montenegro and abroad. - Lives in Bar and Köln.

100 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 100 Lullaby of life My memories covered me Scenes of wonder thoughts I don't feel reality Last words on my mouth. I want to stay here But this time hurts like never I'm supposed to be near Near the life fever. Last dance of night Curtains are lowering on us I hear the lullaby That calms me down. Between two worlds Longing after wonder Dark lace covers My hidden memories. Inda Mulaahmetović was born in Sarajevo, on December 6th She's a student of Third gymnasium in Sarajevo. She works in redaction of kids programme on BH radio 1. Member of poetry group Diogenes Poetes. Interests: poetry and radio.

101 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 101 Instead of a testament There are people in my life with whom I m not bound blood flows, or genes that convey a similar shape eyes, mouth, nose. There are people with whom I'm bound chance encounters, words and smiles, the current looks and touches. There are people with whom I'm bound deep, dark nights, joint tears and pains, surviving defeats and breakdowns. There are people with whom I'm bound bright crystal mornings, children's outbursts of joy, meaningless sophistry till dawn. There are people with whom I'm bound distant hazy memories, remorse over lost opportunities, promises and dreams. There are people with whom I'm bound misplaced letters, forgotten face shape, departed voice color. There are people with whom I m bound ragged seats compartments, carved school desks, invisible letters on the city walls. There are people with whom I m bound fingers of mystery, the index finger of fate and thumb of jiff. There are people with whom I m bound feelings deeper than the earth s oceans, and wider than the space s dimensions. There are people in my life to whom instead of a testament I will leave a piece of my soul. Born 25 March in Novi Grad (Bosanski Novi), where she finished elementary and high school. -Winning the first prize for poetry and stories in local contests and competitions. Graduated at the Faculty of Philology (Department of Serbian Language and Literature) in Banja Luka. With friend Alexander Marilović published her first collection of poetry duet (Bera, Irene: Far proximity; Marilović, Alexander: drowning Toasts, Brankovo round, Awaits, Future, Novi Sad, 2011).

102 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 102 Changing colours.!! ONE MORNING I GOT UP HEARING SHOUTS AND SCREAMS, LOOKED OUT THROUGH THE WINDOW TO SEE A CROWD ACROSS THE STREAMS. THE CROWD HAD MEN,WOMEN,CHILDREN AND ALL, AMONG THEM I COULD SEE A MAN VERY TALL, HE WAS SHOUTING AT SOMEONE STOUT I LEFT MY HOUSE TO SEE WHAT THE MATTER WAS ABOUT? REACHING THERE I HEARD THE NEWS, BUT WE FOOLISH MEN LIKED OTHER COLOURS BRIGHT, NONE WHICH WAS LIKE WHITE. WE CANGED OUR COLOURS(RELIGION) AND BEGAN TO FIGHT. PEACE WAS WHAT HE WANTED ALWAYS, BUT WE WENT AROUND WITH RELIGIONS TO CHASE! THIS WAS HOW I ENDED MY SPEECH, THEN I COULD HEAR HAPPINESS SCREECH. EVERYONE CLAPPED AND THANKED ME ALOUD, BECAUSE I D TOLD THEM A FACT THEY D NEVER FOUND!!! TWO MEN WERE FIGHTING-ASKING WHICH RELIGION TO CHOOSE? ONE SAID CHRISTIANITY IS THE BEST, THE OTHER PUT HINDUS ABOVE THE REST. ALL OTHERS DID NOT FAIL, THEY STARTED SPEAKING ABOUT THEIR RELIGION S TRAIL. THE FIGHT SLOWLY WAS SPREAD AMONG ALL, KICKING,HITTING AND MAKING THE OTHER FALL. THE FIGHT NOW WAS REACHING IT S HEIGHT, BUT THEN I SPOKE BRINGING IN LIGHT. BE QUIET YOU MEN AND LISTEN CAREFUL, TILL YOUR EARS AND BRAINS BECOME TOTALLY FULL. THERE S NO RELIGION,NOR CASTE AND CREED, TO CALL A PERSON A HINDU OR CHRISTIAN IS JUST NO NEED. ALL THESE PARTITIONS ARE JUST LIKE DIFFERENT COLOURS, BUT APART FROM ALL, MR.WHITE IS AMONG THE MAJORS. DON T YOU AGREE TO WHAT I SAY? EVERYONE NODDED-YES IN AN AWESTRUCK WAY. I CONTINUED SAYING WITH ALL MY MIGHT, AND EVERYONE LISTENED TO ME HAPPY AND BRIGHT. RED,BLUE,GREEN AND YELLOW, ARE JUST LIKE RELIGIONS WE DO FOLLOW. BUT REALITY COMES WHEN WE SPEAK OF WHITE, IT REPRESENTS GOD IS ONE AND HE IS BRIGHT. IF THIS FEELING,IN OUR BRAIN ENTERS, WE MAY CALL EACH OTHER BROTHERS AND SISTERS. HIS COLOUR IS WHITE, HE IS LIKE THE STARS OF THE NIGHT. HE HAD GIVEN US ONE RELIGION WHICH HE THOUGHT WAS RIGHT, THAT WAS TO LOVE HIM AND RESPECT HIS MIGHT. My name is Ishita Mishra. I am thirteen years old. I am an Indian. I stay in Howrah,West Bengal. I study in St. Agnes Convent School. I love to write and wish to become a writer one day.

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106 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 106 SERBS AND I TODAY They have arrested Karadzic And I m writing about women They have arrested Mladic And I m writing about women They have arrested Hadzic And I m writing about women No surrender! Born in 1983 in Belgrade, where he still lives. Poet, anagrammatist, polyglot, drummer, ex-basketball player and TV host. Occasionally works as a tour guide. Currently preparing his first book of poetry. Also working on a new TV game show.

107 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 107 Revelation While your head is clear And everything is obvious And everything suits fine You accept and understand everything You let the music follow you It makes you feel better In the bus called life Exchange your seat You ll find out how the others live You ll find out about your life too It s not always nice and cosy Riding on the bus of life. Jadranka Tarle Bojović was born in Sinj, Croatia, in She lives and works in Split, where she received her education. She graduated from the Faculty of Economics in Split. So far, she has published several books. A collection of short stories Priče iz podsvjesti (Stories from the Unconsciousness) and a collection of short stories and poetry Proljeće ljubavi (Spring of Love) were both published in In 2008, she published a short novel Vrijeme kad su padale maske (The Time When Masks Were Falling Off) which was well received in two competitions in 2009, organised by an internet portal for the best novel and by the Lice knjige for the best illustration. In 2009, she published a collection of short stories Noć ružičastog obzora (Night of the Pink Horizon). In 2011, she published a collection of poems Izgubljena ulica (A Lost Street). She is a member of the Croatian Literary Society in Rijeka. Her works have been published in Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Macedonia. She participated in European and international poetry festivals. Her style represents a detachment from traditional Croatian poetry; it is unique and truthful and leaves a deep mark both in readers and in the Croatian poetry as a whole.

108 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 108 ILLUSIONABLE ETERNITY All your memories faded as old jeans You are like Jack and magic beans Looking for reality of your broken dreams You are dancing with the wind which slues you around Where is the ground? Where are all those balloons? Where are those childlish Looney Toones? Oh, everything passes by Like a blink of an eye You're standing by the grave and crying Oh, what does this means, all this dieing? You're in the bed, you're lieing And having nightmares In which Black Death dares You to live a Life Oh, where is the knife To cut Her throat? You're riding the goat Which you replaced with the horse 'Cause you can't stand this curse Of illusionable Eternity. JASMILA TALIĆ was born 26th December 1989, in Bosnia & Herzegovina, in Banja Luka. She finished primary school Mak Dizdar in Zenica. She also finished Highschool in Zenica, and she was a student of generation in year 2007/08. At this moment she is a student at master study of Psychology at Faculty of philosophy in Sarajevo, where she has a degree and a titile of baccalaureat. She was a member of youth Club of prose and poetry. She was rewarded a few times for her writing (prose). Writing is her passion since her early childhood, and she believes that it's going to stay that way forever, because she couldn't imagine her life differently.

109 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 109 Divestment Love has taken of her dress of magnolia And stood before me, luminous naked In the light of her transparence Everything I have on me is needless What are you going to put on yourself Before my confused eyes, oh, Love? If you dress yourself in the cherry tree Shake off your blossom in my lap If you dress yourself in the Autumn colors Let me dance in your amber leaves and laugh Oh, Love, strip away these dirty garments from me And dress me in your naked Beauty! Jelena Bogdanovic was born on May 25, 1967 in Bela Crkva, Serbia. She holds a degree in Theology from the Evangelical Theological Faculty in Osijek, Croatia. Today she lives in Belgrade, where she is involved in pastoral/counseling ministry with sub-culture of drug addicts in Belgrade, within the local church New Horizon. She also works as a translator and writer. She is married and has one daughter Mihaela (19). Jelena has published two books of poetry: 1.) Evoking the rain - with Terri Williams as a co-author (two-language, Serbian/English edition) - (2007. New Horizon ) 2.) The Letters of the Desert Princess - the journey of the thirsty soul (Serbian, 2011., selfpublished)

110 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 110 CLOSING TIME 'Tis not worth it, lad! Nothing is of worth. 'Tis no worth drinking when he is not around. The wine is the same, last summer's vintage, same are the glasses, wedding gifts of ours (missing one to make it six), but that's not it. I m holding on like a duchess... A starchy apron under my waist. a brocade dress down my thighs, like a second skin. As if tailored with the edge of a knife. And a cheerful step to keep the foes in check! And I say Sister! Wave your hip! Light up the midnight, numb the desire! And give everyone another round, whatever they re drinking. On the house! With a glance shining from fire and a wide innkeeper s smile - Gratis! Oh!... Those who don t know me - wouldn t recognize that sigh of longing hovering in my bosom, and with whom I d most rather and where I d be, from his palm I d drink, in the crook of his arm I d hide my most beautiful colors. He d melt them and be drunken from me, cheers to him! Hey, lassie!... Pour me another glass of homemade, from that barrel, the one not for customers And - with your soft and humble soul - bring in the tablecloths, it s going to rain, see the cloud?... Dim the lanterns, say it s the closing time, cause Soon, at the the end of the old bar, the brightest of coins will jingle, a smile like the goldest of broches will shine, Anybody s working?..., he ll ask. A devilish look, a strong embrace, a head on my shoulder, a finger on my lips * I ll lock up... I ll close the shutters. He ll be here soon Go.... It s getting late. The translation of my poem 'Fajront' (Closing Time) is made by Sonja Banjac and Sonja Nikčević, from Belgrade.

111 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 111 My name is Jelena Ćirić. I was born in Smederevo, Serbia ( ) I was living and working in Požarevac, Serbia. I graduated from Low faculty in Belgrade. Now, I live in Prague, Czech Republic, with my family, husband and two daughters. My passion is poetry. I write since my school days. My first book of poetry 'Embers' ('Žar') was published this year. My poems are found on many sites and poetry collections. I've got several awards and

112 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 112 Nature will understand... I just wanted green leaves, less pain... I guess that was too much to ask... Burned trees around me stopped the train of my illusion and I put on a mask. I saw ruined houses, hopes and dreams, hours of loneliness, moments full of stress... We could fight and save the planet, but it seems we'll never be ready to progress. When I wanted to fight, they laugh... They said: ''You care too much, my dear''. Now decision isn't that tough, bacause our nature will disapear. I tryed with my head and two arms make all clouds of dust go away... It's sad, no one can hear alarms for help, that nature wants to stay... I need better world, it's my humen right to pick a place where my dreams can land... Now I'm crying, I am falling apart and only nature can understand... Student.

113 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 113 Mount Kilimanjaro Michael Franti s One Step Closer to You resounds comfortingly within my existence as I climb magical glaciers melting to extinction Evaporating like childhood dreams We all live in an age of erosive weather Battered years wrinkling skin to decay Environmentally speared victimsbasalt and body Volcanic craters remain dormant Our caustically recessed memories sealed deeply, biding their time below the cinereous surface We sag shadowed under metered weight Kibo and Mawenzi towering above, the caldera of Shira spread out beneath Uhuru Peak silently observing mountain and flesh, their persistent stubbornness fighting for this highest summit Staying ever resilient despite our fallsfaults, failures, and gravity We will erupt again in organic glory Tidal floods spewing glacial outwash Discharging tephra and steam in fury Rising free to heights unachieved When magma bubbles as blood boils glowing imprisoned hearts burst forth Earth molten tears will cry the story of our everlasting survival Joe Amaral spends most of his time spelunking around the central coast of California. He is a paramedic by trade but a world traveler at heart. Joe s work has appeared in A Handful of Dust, Carcinogenic Poetry, Certain Circuits, Eclectic Flash, Paradigm, RED OCHRE LiT, Underground Voices and in anthologies by Pill Hill Press and Wicked East Press.

114 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 114 My name is Bošković Joško, I am 33 and I have been wrighting poems for almost 15th years mainly in serbo-croatian language. But i did a few experimental poems in english and italian just to see what would happen

115 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 115 Open book You re an open book, he said, You re a cactus shaped in a heart, you re a cat alone and wet from the October rains You re a book, he said, Beautiful, special book, which I read only when it rains, while listening to jazz You re a book, that I love to read, that I choose to read for holydays for special occasions, you re a book standing on my FB Books Tab. You re an illustrated book illustrated book of poetry. You re a wet book, dowsed by the October rains and frosted at dawn You re a crumpled, lone, sad special book standing by yourself on the bookshelf I bought it just for you, he said, I bought the shelf in London. You re a book for special occasions I read you when I like to treat myself but you won t leave me alone You have that scent That smell of rotting flower wet paper You call me, you want me to read you on a regular day?! I took you from the shelf and you were soaked but there was no rain today?! My dear, salty lonesome book I ll open you tomorrow I ll read you the day after tomorrow I ll read you in two or three days And then, my book I ll just return you at the library Julijana Velichkovska was born in Skopje - Macedonia, Graduated at the University of St. Kiril and Metodij -Faculty of philology "Blaze Koneski" Skopje. She studied Macedonian, South Slavic and comparative literature. She is an author of two books: a monograph 20 Years Velestovo Poetry Night (2009, VPN) and her first poetry book Komarci ( Mosquitoes ) published in 2010,VPN. She translates, writes poetry, short stories and essays. Her poems were published in Macedonian, Chinese, Spanish and other foreign literary magazines. Besides her native Macedonian language, she writes in English too. Her poetry is also translated in English, Chinese, Serbian, Dutch, and other languages. She participated as a poet at Cork Spring Literary Festival 2011 in Ireland, Struga Poetry Evenings 2010 and 2011 and other poetry readings in Macedonia. Julijana Velichkovska is a board member of the international cultural event Velestovo Poetry Night Ohrid and she is an owner/director of a publishing house PNV PUBLIKACII (Bookstore Kavkaz) in Skopje. In December Julijana Velichkovska represented Macedonia at the 15 th Biennale of young artists from Europe and the Mediterranean in Rome, Italy.

116 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 116 Darjeeling Hues.. The parable of sullen lives Surges through veins. The rainmaker s dead... Yet an endless wait for a splitting sky. Whirling around in eddies...dark...sombre, Puffing up a layman s chest... Was an earnest urge. Crying despair with a mouth inarticulate, Sadness incommunicable and desolate. Rapture and reverie fills up the vacuum, Unnerving mêlée of voices and opinion... Scavengers on the loose, the air smells stale... Stench of a soul scathed and frail. Like a stain seeping between a virgin crack, Cold and leaky, peace runs from a rusty tap. Bystanders march in mocking agony, Scanning the mind for an allusion... In dark, dingy alleys...the musings of a man scared Of loneliness and deceptive yearning, In a bubble world of confusion. Bloody lies the field where once trod the fair lady... Staggering courage uncouth, unsteady... Ignorance has triumphed, Rationalism is dead. In prints of grey and red... Shameless...exposed...underrated...ignored... Too much hatred endured. Someday I hope we will linger to surmise... A dream for a PERENNIAL SUNRISE... I am an Assistant Professor teaching Communication Skills in a Polytechnic Institute in Sikkim, India. This poem that I've submitted was written a few years back by me when my dear land of Darjeeling where I completed my graduation degree from, was split up in fragments due to political turmoils. This poetry lays down my feelings for this small hilly district which was once considered one of the most beautiful places in the world, a place that lulled the Britishers in India years back.

117 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 117 WHY YOU SAID NO I never thought anything more important than you All I thought is to sacrifice my life for your happiness Everyone believed this as love but I felt this, as something more than that I believed nothing could divide us Until the day you said no I wondered how this could happen to me, but when happened My heart cried like the baby who doesn t knew anything Since it believed only tears could lessen its weight Yet I never blame you for this, how I could But if God was in front of me I would have pelted the stones on him Because all my prayers to him was ignored He made me to love you Only because one day he wanted to take you away from me After you left I went and hugged the ivy tree In which I had written the names of the both Everywhere all my eyes could see is the image of thee But my hands couldn t catch them I chased them then, ended to sleep in the beach After few moments I can t believe that I was in a temple surrounded by all our relatives The music of the marriage eve was hitting my ears I was sitting there as the groom with the auspicious thread in my hands You was there, near with me as the bride I felt as if I attained the whole world I will never open my eyes anymore, because I knew if I open my eyes all these things will go

118 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 118 Dreams and reality Now or never, Say it or go, On the rain or on the snow, Tell me,i really want to know. To touch a sky All planets to buy Stars to steel or see Please,do it for me. Put all stars in my eyes To have look nice To have golden shine And lips like a red vine. I like it the most How many it cost? You can not buy it for money But I like you honey. After bad days We always have another chance, We always give it each other We do not need another mother. When I dream I see you on the clauds how swim, Better fly, Why do you never say me hi? It hurts so much Like your ice touch, Yes,I remember When you were our school member. But I understand you Whatever you do, I always find new reason Like killer in the prison. I can not do anything In my dreams I am sailing, I am sailing far away Away to the USA. I can not controlate your brain I can not controlate the rain, But I can go away What ever you say. I can not be somebody else I have one more chance, To be super star? From my wish it is so far. I will not be actress or singer My wish is just on one my finger, I will not be diva or rocker I want to be pharmacy worker. I want to help to the people, I know it is not simple, I want to see their smile Not how they cry. It can be hard way, Do not listen what they say, Do it on your way With their smile,they will pay. You must have huge soul The sky is your goal You are born to help You must forget on yourself. So head up and do not ask Everyone has a mask Follow your dreams Never ask about their teams. My name is Katarina Gurešić. I was born on April 6th,1994 year.i am from Bijelo Polje, Montenegro. I have finished second grade of secondary medical school Dr Branko Zogović in Berane, and my major is pharmacy.i am excellent student. I have participated in many poetry competitions, and I have achieved remarkable results. This year I won second place on The International poetry competition Mihael Babinka in Novi Sad, Serbia. I won first place on poetry competition in Bijelo Polje.

119 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 119 SEARCH On the one hand - light. On the other darkness... In eternal battle that continues its course People change, but one thing remains The fight that lasts forever, between Satan and God. Now I am an instrument, a mere tool In the hands of the forces that provoke each other. In a raging war with no final end, I, an ordinary man, looking for a happy end. Katarina Simoničić, was born on 29 September 1984, in Kraljevo (Serbia). After finishing her studies in journalism, she continued education in the field of international relations at the Faculty of Political Sciences in Belgrade. She writes poems and stories since childhood. So far, she worked as a journalist and marketing manager. Her hobbies are painting and mountain climbing.

120 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 120 WHERE THE SWALLOWS ARE FLYING CARELESS THE THOUGHTS FLOW LIKE LARGE PERFUMED DROPS AS IF MADE OF A CHERRY JUICE THEY FALL FROM THE SKY YOU KNOW I HOLD ON TO CERTAIN PICTURES A MOSAIC CREATED BY THE MOMENTS OF LOVE I DEDICATED AN EXIBITION TO THEM IN MY SOUL AND YOU,AS A GOD'S MESSENGER A WHITE DOVE FLEW AND DENUDED YOUR CHEST AND WHEN YOU HOLD MY HAND JUST FOR A MOMENT THE CLOUDS ARE WRITING SOME GOD'S UNDEFINED SINGS SHOW ME THE CELESTIAL HORIZONT WHERE THE SWALLOWS ARE FLYING CARELESS THE MUSIC IS RINGING IN MY EARS A TENDER, SPRING BREEZE KISSES MY CHIN WAIT! I AM ONLY TALKING TO YOU ABOUT LOVE AND THERE,CLOSE YOUR EYES,BREATH AND LISTEN THE LAKE IS KISSING THE HILL TAKE ME WHERE THE SWALLOWS ROAM CARELESSLY IN THE AIR LECTOR INTO ENGLISH MILENA PETROVSKA

121 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 121 The young poet Kate Jovanovska was born on 6 th December 1980 in Kumanovo Republic Of Macedonia. She studies French and Spanish languages on the Department of Romance philology of the Faculty of philology Blaze Koneski in Skopje. She published one book of poetry under the title of Secret. She admires ancient literature, especially roman and greek mythology. Her favourite poet is the classical poet Homer, and her favourite book is Odisey, the book of high qualities. She declares with confidence that the ancient literature is the most beautiful, inspirative and the most pictoral. The young poet dedicated her first book of poetry to Antique civilizations, to her favourite city Paris and also to her favourite secret. So, she made one special temporal link. She links the classical, the past, the ancient time, when the antique civilizations lived, and this new, modern time, Paris, the beauty, glamour, fashion. The young poet collaborate with lots of Balkan magazines of literature, also student s magazines about poetry, prose and translation. She write poetry on Macedonian, French, English Serbian and Spanish language. Also she write children s poetry and short stories. She published her poetry in lots of Macedonian newspapers, she published the short story (I want to sell my soul) also a children s poem, and English, French and Spanish poems in students magazines. Her poetry is translated in: Serbian, Bulgarian, Bosnian, Croat, Italian, Polish, Albanian, French. The poetry by her book is promote on few internationals belletristic web sites: in few cities in Serbia in Bosnia also in Poland. She participated in lots of internationals poetry meetings: - The Evenings of poetry in Struga (Macedonia) - The artistics performances, the special poetry evenings from the student s association Daybreak, the young poets in Faculty of Philology Blaze Koneski Skopje - Academy Spiritually poetry dedicated of God Uzice Serbia - The poetry readings in Kumanovo from the local association of writers - The International Slavist poetry festival in Pirin s part of Macedonia ( Bulgaria ) - The international poetry festival of young poets in Belgrade Serbia - The poetry festival of young poets from Macedonia Prilep Macedonia - The promotion of collective book of poetry Dawn from Feminine woman s association, poetry dedicated to hometown - The poetry reading in Probistip Macedonia She readed poetry in so many TV and Radio shows, the local TV and the National Macedonian TV. She won the second prize. She participate in lots of collectives internationals poetry almanacs: - Uzice, Belgrade, Ingjija, Gornji Milanovac Serbia - Brchko, Sarajevo Bosnia and Hercegovina - Roots multiethnic almanac in Kumanovo Macedonia - Irin Pirin Melnik Pirin s part of Macedonia She won a special praise by Femine Association Nada Mihajlova about her hometown. She s vice-president of Independent association of writers from Kumanovo Macedonia. Except of the poetry readings also she was guest of exhibition of art (painting) like a special inspiration.

122 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 122 If Words Could Say (2) Dear me I do this again. You smile, like a meandering stream. Your shiny hair, in the sun it must gleam. You are a sight of gracious affection, I wish I could, but, I would not mention. Your breasts, like juicy ripe mangoes. It s a wonder, if they re not foes A splendid grandeur for my eyes to behold. Darling, you, in my arms, I must hold. The sun falls into a deep sleep And the moon constrains a joyous leap Stars begin to walk aimless; The clouds too, they wish not for less. Sparkling white teeth! A miracle! It is you I meet Truly, you are a sight of beauty. I will make with you a lifelong treaty. You walk with humility, clothed Hidden, yet pain remains, to be soothed, My heart bumps, your love it craves. Maybe, just maybe, it ll lead straight to graves. Let the trees swing willingly My heart will love thoroughly. Time passes unknowingly Yet our joy will reign eternally I create in my heart a purpose And on that my mind will focus So until I hear you say yes, I will not accept anything less. I wait, until peace is filled with great love, Your heart, your love, I must have. I wish I had more to say, That is, if only words could say. Age: 22 I enjoy writing in all genres but love is my greatest theme and it runs through almost all my writings. I enjoy graphic designing and I m a music fan. I crave to write to a very large audience around the world.

123 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE A4 format...78 Str./Pgs. Narudžbe/Order 30 Eura plus poštarina/ 30 Euros plus postage Plasticized cover page...full color..78 pages... ALI I/ BUT ALSO A4FORMAT Crno bijeli knjižni blok plus naslovnica u boji plastificirana...black and white pages plus cover page in color..plasticized Price/Cijena : 6 Eura/Euros plus postage/postarina 78 stranica Naručite SPECIJALNO IZDANJE MAGAZINA sa PRVOG poetskog maratona u organizaciji DIOGEN pro kultura magazina i Sarajevske zime g. Na ovom linku možete prelistati: alternativanuova@gmail.com

124 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 124 Interview with The Poet How is being a writer in Mostar? Being a writer in Mostar is the same as being illiterate in New York nobody reads yourself's expression and nobody understands you. Everyone says your girl-friend is much prettier then you are! Is it love? Can she really love you, or she is with you only because you are a great poet? I admire her beauty she admires my poems and after she reads my poems she begins to admire her own beauty PS: A poet is much more than just a notion; he is a huge area in which, when you cross it, you see a place where love often stops to pick up it's passengers Krunoslav Setka was born on 29th of May 1971 in Konjic, Bosnia and Hercegovina. He writes in three languages: Croatian, German and English and has published his writings in all these languages. As Master of Intercultural Communication and European Studies, he tries to bring poetry into politics, which is not an easy item.

125 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 125 " Pjesnici pred Kapijom Bogova kao sužnji ljubavi." POETSKI MARATON POETRY MARATHON Poets in front of the Gate of Gods as servants of love. Sarajevo, World poetry day/ Svjetski dan poezije MI OBJEDINJUJEMO RAZLIČITOSTI... WE ARE UNIFYING DIVERSITIES THIS, 2012 YEAR SARAJEVO WINTER festival will, in co-operation with DIOGEN pro culture magazine publish a book with the poetry of all participants Selektor i za 2012.g.: Sabahudin Hadžialić, književnik - gl. i odg. urednik DIOGEN pro kultura magazina Selection of the poets for this year also: Sabahudin Hadzialic, writer and Editor in chief of DIOGEN pro culture magazine

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128 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 128 The Scent of Love My dog returned at dawn wounded in the war of passion. He's lying under a maple tree and sticks his tongue into a round wound half-a-finger deep. In a few hours he'll wag his tail at my hand that holds the meat. Then again he'll run away from home at the scent of another bitch. While people are still asleep and dream of each other. Who was the first to say that love is beautiful? And who will be the last to say it beautifully? Krystyna Lenkowska is a Polish poet and translator. She has published seven collections of poetry. Her poems in English have appeared in USA, in Boulevard, Chelsea, Confrontation and Absinthe. She has been also translated and published in other languages, Ukranian, Italian and Albanian among others.

129 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 129 Let Them Go Winter after winter, spring after spring leaves will be growing, leaves will be falling, They will be thrown away, so far, on the wind - let them go, let them come let them follow their destiny. Like love or friends that always come and go, enjoy your smile now,before the tears. Enjoy someone around you,before you're all lonely. Enjoy your life as if it was your most precious gift, and your days as if they were always the firsts. From season to season birds will be changing from nest to nest. Looking for a warmful place where they'll be safe - and bear the hardest winter. Flowers will be growing while others will be dying Winter after winter, spring after spring. Their leaves will be thrown - far and way - on the wind, Let them go, let them come let it be. Live in São Paulo,Brazil. A student and teacher of English language.

130 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 130 CHILDHOOD SECRETS I m going to search for The light The swing Of my childhood I m going to search for Dandelions in the grass And aureolas Which we made I m going to search for Little frogs in the pool of water With their croak Continuouslly I m going to search for Letters In the notebooks Of our classmates I m going to find Childhood Preserved In the smell of quinces In the secrets In memories Of my yard Born on at Senta Serbia. Began on write in elementary scool. Writes in free style with mderate rhimes,short stories, Haiku poetry. Her poetry is about universal love. Published works Tiski cvet Flower of Tisa 1,2, Palićki biseri Pearls of Palic 1,2,3, Kaktusi iz kamena niču Cactuses growes on rocks,1,2, Sjaj ravnice-zajednička knjiga Shine of plainmutial publication Volim balkansko I like the Balkans 2010 Putanjom duge do sna Long path to the dream 2010 Tiso ljubavi Of love Tussands 2010 Ther are unpublished Haiku verses,short stories two more thrilogies of verses. She is a jurist, and lives at Petrovaradin beside Novi Sad.

131 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 131 WHEN THE FATHER SAYS - When your father says you are beautiful after many years and perhaps for the first time you forget all, all forgive all. You feel the weight Coming off your shoulders. When your father says: you are beautiful although for the first time and you are already 33; You feel like a little girl with a red ribbon in your hair and a white polka dot dress on. When your father says you are beautiful his words of praise are beyond compare. The words of praise by any other man Will not make you feel as pretty, As the words of your father. regardless of the comments made by passers-by About length of your nose When you father says you are beatiful Then you know that you really are. My name is Maja Gargenta Reic. I am from Serbia, from a not-so-small industrial town near the Capital, called Pancevo. I won many prizes in competitions such as the most creative masks on the carnevals (for The bird, Rabbit, the Little Fox, The Pinochio, the Sun etc). I also created a cute little wood creatures in the children`s plays and my masks were high rated. I was working as a journalist on the local radio station and the most recent years in local newspaper. My first experiences in working with children were in German`s kindergardens, in Kiel. I write poetry, short stories and i paints, so these are my hobbies. At the moment I am preparing my first collection of my poetry The Scent of Memli. I adore travelling, kids, drinking coffee. I believe in strypes lying. At present I live and dream on a relation Pancevo - Split. I graduated pedagogy, I am also a teacher of The German Language and still a student of the third year of psychology. I do not want to be real important, but I can not stop the curiosity of the child within. Enclosed I send You a song and I hope you will like.

132 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 132 THE EMBARRASSMENT ( No, no, we are not satisfied and will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream. Martin Luther King Jr) how it hurtles from the skies the rain the rain toppling hillside sweeping plain bowling us like grinning ninepins down the drain flushing all pretension from our brain to what end does intellect circumvent natural passion all we need to comprehend is compassion we construct cerebral frames but again pain will hurtle from the skies like the rain Maria Grech Ganado, (b. 1943), poet, translator, critic, studied English at the Universities of Malta, Cambridge and Heidelberg. She was the first Maltese female Full-Time Lecturer at the University of Malta (Department of English), has published four collections of Maltese poetry, Izda Mhux Biss, 1999; Skond Eva, 2001; Fil-Hofra Bejn Spallejha, 2005, Maria Grech Ganado: Monografija, 2010 (the first of which won a National Book Prize in 2002) and three of English, Ribcage, 2003, Cracked Canvas, 2005, Memory Rape, 2005 (the second of which won a National Book Prize in 2006). Her poetry in one language or other has appeared in anthologies, magazines and journals both in Malta and abroad where it has been translated into Italian, French, German, Greek, Spanish, Turkish, Arabic, Lithuanian, Finnish, Czech and Catalan. It has appeared in English in the UK, the USA, Australia, South Africa and Cyprus. She has been invited to many literary events in different countries and co-organised an international conference with LAF (Literature Across Frontiers) in Malta in In 2008, thanks to an exchange scheme with Saint James Cavalier, Malta, she was a Resident Fellow for six weeks at the Virginia Centre for the Creative Arts. Maria has also translated into English much of the contemporary poetry and prose written by Maltese writers today and published overseas. In 2000, she received the MQR - Midalja ghall-qadi tar-repubblika (Medal for Service to the Republic). She has 3 children, children-inlaw and 2 grandsons. Maria s 5th Maltese collection, Taht il-kpiepel t Ghajnejja is at the publisher s and she is currently working on a 4th publication in English, as well as a book on her experience as a teacher over the years.

133 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 133 WITNESS ATOMIC August 8 th I by myself astonished Being alive as persistently as I will be dead as those others are dead Let no one suggest Dante s shadows where literary allusions only damn us for our evasions You don t need courage to survive You need luck, the unexplainable which falls on you as other shadows fall on you with black rain and whit light The numbers are against you but somehow you survive: you have been redeemed into life but condemned to ever look backwards There are no clear marks between past and present? Wrong. White light says your past in alive, black rain say s it is your future You remember what you want to forget The dead live on in the half dead. * August 6 th Hell s welder was busy making the world his furnace but we mistook the siren for his ritual blowing of the horn and so were deceived. When the air burns you have nothing to breath You breathe flame and death and the terrible totality of a white nothingness Then a yellow turned scarlet coloured candle fire death-kissed by black smoke Houses levitating then falling then crushed And a white wave coming charging in from the sea Hell had never enjoyed itself like this before The floor of the world fell from under me Then a wall of dust, I was frozen; it was as if the blast was repeating itself Hell had taken over heaven s power and twisted it to flame Or was acting on its behalf so that even the survivors are its victims * The living lived on in their burning Without this there was nothing to identify them The skin of the young resembled the skin of the old The sky could not control itself The black rain was everywhere The living checked the dead to see if they could recognise one from the other Not even our illusions were granted mercy that might have given comforted us The soldiers were busy stacking the landing crafts with bodies and body-parts Even now I cannot think of this without being threatened by it * And now the claim is that we live in a peaceful world But I don t accept that. There are limits to what I m willing to believe. The frozen moment thawed but the thawing water is cold. And the river was cold as I came back to it day after day for eight days Nor can I say now why I did it when all there was to be seen Was twisted iron because even the rats had been vaporised Not to be dead is that what it means to be alive? The tourists pause at the peace-bell on their way to the local McDonald's.

134 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 134 Martin Burke is an Irish poet/playwright/editor living in Belgium. He has published book in the USA, UK, Ireland, & Belgium. He is the founder/artistic director of the bilingual theatre group Theater Zonder Thuis. He is co-editor of the magazine The Green Door (

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137 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 137 I wondered what it was about you You were a stranger to me, until the day my eyes found you Suddenly they forgot to blink and I wondered what it was about you My heart started pounding every time you looked my way I froze in my seat and I wondered what it was about you The first time you dropped me home, I danced my way to some unheard tunes I admired the stars after a long time and wondered what it was about you When our lips first met, I could feel my blood rushing through my body As you held me closer, my body could feel the shuddering nerve-tingling feeling Being in your arms felt so rite, with a sudden change in the future that seemed so bright I laid on my bed that night and wondered what it was about you I begin my mornings with a hope in my heart of wanting to grow old with you As much as it seems difficult, I know our love is pure and stronger to make it true You make me smile every time I think about you and I still wonder what it is about you I am Maya Iyer, living in Bangalore- India. I work with one of world famous retail chain. My hobbies are to sing,cook and write...

138 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 138 Senryu and Haiku rising from her bed she washes nights love away dripping on the floor come my little one fear not what next awaits us covered in snow dreams Poetess:

139 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 139 FACES Once you learn, Its world Seamlessly isolated In two halves; Place themselves into seeing ourselves Not see ourselves Reduced to spontaneous barriers On drafts of the day Rough without dreams, Played friendly Overshadow bitterness the facial features, In blindness satisfy other Mysterious sharpness. Once you learn, Behold people maturing with time, Seemingly banish a gloom its days To be a human With crying in own blood Smile in the famous place Who pleases others; Once you learn, Drain as the water, Deepen to stem The stream of joy or sadness, Radiate emotion shine Someone close another alienated, Hidden face of pale to break new ground. Once you learn, Clairvoyant mimicry Face gestures Reading cosmopolitanism Wrinkles signs infatuation, No less thoroughly than its; Once you learn, Dressed in its own image of the world, Its own shadows away for a mirror of the soul; Faces watches reflections, Of everyone given the fate On the faces of emotional dust scatter, Coloured carelessly of strain grace. Milena Susnik Falle, born at Otoče in Gorenjska Slovenia, where the live. Married, mother of two adult children. Retired worker Court in Kranj. By writing poetry, I started working on the 8th grade of elementary school, publishing poems in the 16th years in the magazine "Young pot", and later in the "Tribune", "our views," "Design", after retirement I began to participate in literary competitions..... Posts poems: literary anthologies - domestic and foreign Literary magazines, newspapers,... - domestic and foreign virtual publication in the domestic and foreign online presentation of poetry and poetry collections morning Transparent crystals 2007 and Tempus fugit - Time flees 2009, Radio Triglav Jesenice and radio Kranj Book of Pleasure Ljubljana (it was published that my winning song 7) publication Sower Four Seasons Magazine publication Confluence Ties between people codecs 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011 Islands Magazine Tragovi, U Balkan dawn Locutio, Lirik.si, seniors forum... etc.. Poeta Wien Car Slovenia - Poland... etc.. Awards: in England»United Rivals of Words and Poetry 2009 and 2010, 2011 First Prize contest Snovik Spa - All my song rewarded... in Sarajevo, Indjija from 2006 to 2010, Award of RS JSKD, Mentor magazine - Seniors Post Poeta, Wien Paper and internationally Forever Word 2011 PoemTranslations: - English - Serbian - German - Polish - Croatian language... Occasionally participate in local literary events in Slovenia. Preparing III. poetry collection.

140 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 140 Binary ballades My first kiss was a virtual one. I kissed 1/10 Angelina Jolie s clone limited avatar edition. Then I thought about sex... But my computer Has been influenced by something And broke down For good. Maybe it got a kissing disease? On the other hand I m fine, I really think I am..physically But still dizzy in a real world. Emotionaly- desparate To see her again But another exclusively online session will be held in 6 a months from here excatly in midnight when the registration starts. The first 10 lucky competitors Will have acess to Next generation of limited editon Twins afro and asian version Avatars of clones of Angelina Jolie. 2 of her - on the second level Sex. If I won again... Next level A relationship. 3 of them. Which I can customize myself. Bonus that comes with 3 won hearts. Each level one more avatar clone. And then a whole army of my Mulitply first love! Similar or custom. I can t wait! I have ot get an ultra resitant computer To fight against bunch of those hackers, Spamers,viruses,voayers and other junkers,windfucker And jealous motherfuckers Who distract me in my mission. To be online forever Because Those cyber sexy virtual girls Don t like offline boys.

141 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 141 Born in Novi Sad.Finished School for design Bogdan Šuput.Graduated at Academy of Arts department of painting class Group exibitions / Projects th Novosadski salon, Exibiton gallery of Vojvodinian Bank, Novi Sad, Serbia Design for T shirts, campaing Do something for your consciousness on 10 th anniversary of Srebrenica massacre on Exit NGO stage, Helsininan comitee for human rights Novi Sad, Serbia Attendance in performance Slaves NGO Esperanca and Human theater in association with NGO Against human trafficking Astra from Belgrade,INFANTfuzija, openspace locations in Novi Sad, Serbia Group photo exhibition, Unconquered town, Karlovac, Croatia Seleciton Made in Serbia 2008,video DJ-ing nature,videomedeja,novi Sad, Serbia Group photo exhibition, Unconquered town, Karlovac, Croatia Group photo exhibition, Museum night, Novi Sad, Serbia Group photo exhibition, Novi Sad photomaraton, Novi Sad, Serbia Group photo exhibition, Novi Sad photomarathon, Pečuj, Hungary E poetry / 2 in 1, small hall, Student Cultural Center, Belgrade, Serbia Awards: nd award Novi Sad photomarathon for series of photos,novi Sad,Serbia st award Novi Sad photomarathon for best photography,novi Sad,Serbia Workshops: Video activism, Youth club Crna kuća 13, Novi Sad, Serbia,2009. Slam poetry,potree, Belgrade, Serbia,2010. Poetry performances:_ Radio show Sunday at 2 Studio B, presentation of participants of the workshop Slam poerty Avakum Kvas and Milica Denković,Belgrade, Serbia, Radio show Sunday at 2 Studio B, presentation of all participants of the workshop Slam poerty,,belgrade, Serbia, First facebook poetry festival, Master hall Sajam, Novi Sad, Serbia, Poetry in the house, Youth club Crna kuća 13, Novi Sad, seriba, April meetings 2011, Big hall of Student cultural center Belgrade, Serbia, 2011

142 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 142 A Collie s Campanulla a perennial flowering Mimi Ferebee is the editor-in-chief of RED OCHRE PRESS, overseeing the publication of both RED OCHRE LiT and ROLiT NEWS. They trotted, ashen footprints dotting, chalking a route from the River Tweed to Solway Firth. Swift like cutting breeze, their hind legs brushed along that border, sweeping the snow as they trailed. The journey began with a pact among puppies, a howled promise that sang as much pride as it did fear. Huddled, yet trekking, those rhythmic jaunts blended merle into sable, and sable lead them home. Surely, there were tears, rivering that pilgrimage, an expedition of energy, of vitality, intelligence and athleticism, but laughter warmed, a soothing jacuzzi within whirling wintery storms. And when they arrived, finally pausing for breathes, one refused to pant, inhaling the air as if her crisp cusps were violet lobes, those heart-shaped whispers, bluebells, rising under the hidden sun. A graduate of the College of William and Mary, she received degrees in both English (emphasis in Creative Writing and Literature) and Psychology (emphasis in Behavioral and Developmental Science). Her literary work has been featured in several journals, magazines and reviews, including Flutter Poetry Journal, Leaning House Press, Caper Literary Journal, Contemporary World Literature, Both Sides Now, Bewildering Stories, Decanto Magazine (UK), ChickenBones: A Journal & Houston Literary Review. Look for recent acceptances and upcoming publications in James Dickey Review, Taj Mahal Review (India) & Black Magnolias. Her full length poetry collection, Shape Shifts & Her Other Masqued Transitions, will be published by Patasola Press (Fall, 2011). Her essay "Devil in a Blue Dress and Cinnamon Kiss: An Exploration of African American Financial Insecurity and its Impact on Psychological Development" will also be published in the fall by Psychedelic Literature, while her "Is Your Daughter Planning to Sell Her Virginity: On the Road to a Notion of Feminism" debuted in April 2011 in TawdryBawdry. If you enjoyed the latter essay, be sure to read her "Start Early, Don't Stop: Mother's Road to Sex Education" in the April 2011 issue of Tidewater Women Magazine. Mimi has also just been accepted into the 15th Annual West Virginia Writer's Workshop, hosted by the acclaimed English department of West Virginia University. The newest literary fellow of The Muse, Mimi will participate in a number of intensive workshops this summer, including a poetry writing session with Old Dominion University's MFA Creative Writing Program Director, Luisa Igloria, a fiction writing session with acclaimed Virginia-based author Tim Farrington & a photography session with the hailed Roberto Westbrook.

143 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 143 PRAYER Far away The falcon silently circles the sky Sunken in freedom Loving it more than life itself. The last warrior Begs the Holly Land To forgive Because the dust trickles Less and less Translated into English by: Sabahudin Hadzialic She was born in In 1992 she graduated in the Russian language and literature from the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade. Since 1993 she has been teaching Russian at school, running the Russian choir, writing poetry and prose, singing, painting, organizing concerts and poetry presentations. Near the end of 2010 she published her first book of poems, which she also illustrated, and is currently preparing another three books of poetry (haiku, novelty poems and reflective poems), as well as short stories. She has published her poems in several magazines and internet portals, such as: Diogenes, Sarajevo Maximinus, Sarajevo (as a member of its editorial team) Webstilus, Zagreb Kandelabar, Indjija Majdan, Kostolac Poeta, Belgrade Budilnik, Novi Sad, and others. Translated into English by: Vesna Stefanovic

144 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 144 To Marko Maslak You get the worm of suspicion and smash it against Truth but then you get cut by the same Truth and you pause You set fire to all books on superstition but instead of burning them at the stake you use them for true fireworks Calm at heart, you meet the light of the day, you soak in the last ripple of the night ebb and you pause You canalize your thoughts, deprive your mind of the right to expression and give it to your will instead you veto the one of someone else, then you spin around your axis and pause You collect bits of advice by the unknown and the irrational, and make a perfect mixture of a kind that no one has ever made and you pause You walk over decayed crops of history, you trudge through rain-forests of futile ideas and ideologies, you spit on all of them fiercely and you pause You disturb the balance of freshly forged evil plans and become your own minority, and your own majority, all by yourself - your own quorum And when you finally complete all of these You rise and walk away for good

145 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 145 Miroslav Kovach was born in in Vrbas, Voyvodina,Serbia. He lives and works in Vrbas, where serves as artistic director of the oldest poetry festival for young poets in the region of western Balkans - the Festival of Yugoslav Youth Poetry. His first book of poetry "Interpreter of fire (Tumač Vatre) was published in the edition "Pegasus"of Književna omladina Srbije in 2011th year. Awards at poeticcompetitions and festivals: - First prize in the competition program, "Svetionik", Radio Danube, Novi Sad, 1998th - First prize of the festival "Erato of Kucura" Kucura, 2000th and Recognition in the competition "Vatrom hodim stihom brodim" Backa Palanka, 2001th - Laureate of the "Stanko Simićević" Yugoslav Youth Poetry Festival, Vrbas, 2005th - Second prize in the contest for the most beautiful spiritual song, Literary Club "Rujno", Uzice, 2009th - Praise the international poet of the "Rudnicka vrela," Gornji Milanovac, 2009th - Award for a guest-participant at the 14th international literary festival "Pontes", Krk, Republic of Croatia Poetry published in collections: Yugoslav haiku festival, Odžaci, 1999th - Competition for the most beautiful love song "Žubori sa Moravice",Ivanjica, 2000th - "Vatrom brodim stihom hodim, "Dis", Backa Palanka,2001th - Competition "Banatsko pero" - New on the old address, Zitiste, 2008th - International festival of poets "Garavi sokak", Indjija, 2009th, 2010th. - Competition "Morning of Ozren", Sokobanja 2009th - "Traces on the sand", Bečej, 2009th - A joint collection of selected participants of the "gateway between the East and West", IV Novosarajevski literary meetings, Novo Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Proceedings, 1st European Virtual poetry festival, Banat Cultural Center, New Miloševo, 2011.

146 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 146 Your Tears are Treasure She sits in her room And cries and cries There s no more trust in this girl s heart She finally found out That life is not perfect And everyone is not correct She lived in dreams As children often do This was not correct She also knew Things that once were Happiness once known The truth of it all Was also known She ll never know A real true friend There s no more trust For no more lies She knows that All these good things Will one day fly When God watched her He became regretful and Send an Angel for her Angel said Don t cry my girl Every drop of your tear is very precious. It is a treasure. For whom you are taking out these tears When no one does it for you. Keep these tears with you because your tears are treasure. These lines touched the heart of that girl And the angel changed her tears into happiness and smile Name - Nancy Sharma Class - 8 School - Sunbeam English School Bhagwanpur City- Varanasi Country - India Fathers name - Mr. Vijay Kumar Sharma Mothers name - Mrs. Sunita Sharma

147 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 147 Night Look at the sky, it looks so far away, it looks so ugly, cold and gray now when I m just I, one and only in this crazy world which is so lonely, so lonely without you now I m standing on my crossroad asking why? Why have you gone? Where should I go in this crazy town? Where should I go? Sky is so ugly, cold and sad, only stars twinkles, making me mad. What should I do without you? I m standing left from the destiny, right from your eyes. I gave you my hands, I gave you blue skies Now I have nothing, I m hopeless, in tears cause now reality are my worst fears. You gave me sun, then you took it back and lightly day became night in black. Born in in Kruševac. Lives in Lučina, a village near Ćićevac, in Serbia. She is a high school student of Medical school in Kruševac, department of pharmaceutical technician. From her sixst grade she s writing poems, mostly love poems. In she won second prize on poetry competition for the most beautiful love poem in Kruševac in category for high school students and college students, and in first prize. She is writing stories, too. On literary competition held by Serbian Society for Fight Against Cancer in and she won second prize, and in 2011 first prize. On literary competition held by Laza Kostić Fund she won third prize.

148 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 148 * Godo is not coming It is raining, the road from Irland is unpassable The sea cannot be passed with small steps, on rainy nights When solitude is overwhelming you enjoy the earthquake cracks of the Earth When pain has no time even for scientific explanation. Godo is not coming, it is late, infected by the welcoming Sleeping comfortably, amongst both of our dreams. He is not coming, neither under the tree of life nor in the theater of wonders, Under the sleep of expectation which your time doesn t understand...our time. You are waiting, like the bride on the abandoned bed, Dreaming of him with open arms as he brings a sack full of dreams Extending your hands with softness, as in the beloved hair...relaxes there And prays to your dreams, intertwined through your tall fingers. Suddenly a bite freezes your body, your hand flies from the sack. Wiping your forehead you understand that Godo didn t come, neither his enigmatic look. Nontheless you are not convinced that your dream entered in a sack. It was tied forever just like Godo s arrival. Surprisingly passed on the other side of the furious river of words As you pass amongst the dreams full of wonders towards the guards of time That makes the noise of life in the dream of expectation. Nearby the time guards Foster the hope that Godo nevertheless will come. Godo is not coming, no...! You are crying, crying frantically until your tears have made a creek Between your cheeks and your continuous flow of tears. Where the heart beats are felt like the steps of the unknown In the gloomy night when grief is around the corner And even Godo could experience it on his hands and be thrown desperately. Ndue Ukaj, a writer, publicist and literary critic and literary theorist, was born in 1977 in Kosova. He has conducted studies on Albanian literature and language at the Faculty of Philology at the University of Pristina, where he followed master. In Sweden, Ukaj has followed courses in Swedish language and culture. He was member of several editorials literary. He has also been editor of the magazine for art, culture and society "Identity" that was published in Pristina. Ukaj is included in several anthologies of poetry, in Albanian, and other languages. His poems and texts were translated into English, Romanian, Spanish and Italian. While the book Godo is not coming, won the national award "Azem Shkreli" for best book of poetry published in 2010 in Kosovo. He is the author of books of poetry and literary studies. Books in albanian: The Biblical Discourse in the Albanian Literature, AIKD; Kosovo 2004 'The waterfall of metaphors', M&B, Tirane, Albany, 2008 Books in english, Ithaca of the word, translated by Peter Tase, publishing by Lulu Entepress, USA 2010 Godo is not coming Lulu Entepress, USA 2010 Book in spanish: Godo no viene, Lulu Enterpress, USA, He works in the publishing house Drita in Pristina, Kosovo * without prejudice to positions on status / is in line with UNSCR 1244 and ICJ opinion on declaration of independence

149 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 149 AS NEVER BEFORE I have always loved you But never before I sang to you As I am doing it Right today I have kissed you Passionately and powerfully But never exactly As today Your heat Made me warm But I never thought About it As I am thinking about Today By my eyes I fondled Your carves But never before With so much desire As today I have grown into one with you Like a newborn baby By umbilical cord With their mother And I never trembled By being separated from you As today My lovely homeland Born in Prijedor, Bosnia/Herzegovina, where he lived by the beginning of the Bosnia War. Now lives and works as a rehabilitation counsellor and accredited mental health social worker in Brisbane, Australia.

150 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 150 *** train stink so much about trains however everything stink future stink father s advices stink decomposition stink we carring on shoulders curse of the ancestors stink we armed stupidity of the world we armed inexperience whit the bottles we agglomerate from prop and rope swaying mothers in tears get flowers from exotic sisters kissing someone other s girlfriends we living station waste behind the curve train stink we sway Nenad Glišić, born in Kragujevac, Serbia. Author of six poetry books, one novel, and one book of short stories. Lives in Kragujevac.

151 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 151 Sorrow Where is my story's perfect fable? Sorrow, I wait in desperation, what you will tell to me? To love another girl? -I m not able. Destiny, full of the bitterness befalls me. Sorrow, spread your wings and your fame, let it spread like a terrible dread one by one as troop of tears with pain. My life is just a crumb of incant bread. Extolling whispers relates a strain of life so far. Sorrow, show a little respect or take me to the rugs of the stars and I promise, I ll try to forget all. I would like to start again from day to day, forgetting you, my poor sorrow, and this town. I would wander as a bohemian by the star's way and I'll pray forever against this curse because everything in my life is upside-down. Nermin Delić (July 12, 1995) was born in a Bugojno and he goes in a Medicine School Nikola Šop in a Jajce. He is excellent student. He won a second place on a Šopovi dani na Plivi.His poems are listed in a collection of the poems which called Duhovna konekcija regarding a 5 th Novosarajevski susreti. Also, some of his poems are part of a Almanah - collection of the Balkan s poems. His most of the poems are published on a web site of Glas Naroda. Nermin writes a poems and a stories three years and currently, he live in a Vinac.

152 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 152 You don t know, really You don t know, really I m trying To be tidy For you. You don t know, really I take a deep breath So my fat stomach doesn t show For you. You don t know, really I am trying Not to get lost In your eyes. You don t know, really I have beautiful dreams of you In the night, and sometimes in the day, Though, I didn t sleep. You don t know, really Maybe it is time That you know, and Maybe it isn t. Translated by Nihad Mešić River Nihad Mešić was born in Tuzla, Bosnia and Herzegovina in He was educated in Tuzla, Sarajevo, Lillehammer, Copenhagen, Rovereto, Warsaw, Geneva, Subotica...He published different articles in the field of human rights and conflict resolution within Bosnia and Herzegovina and abroad. In 2007 he was coauthor of the book Globalising Hope/ Globalizzare Speranza, published by IUPIP in Italy. For a long time he worked as translator and interpreter from English and French to Bosnian. From the times of war in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Nihad is involved in peace and human rights activism. Under the nom de plum River, Nihad Mešić started to publish poetry in 2002 at the Cyberbulevar Forumu, and later on in the forum of the Web Portal Tuzlarije using the pseudonym Sufler. He published as well in magazines Diogenes and Maxminus. Together with other nine authors he authored the book of poetry Pod istim nebom ( Under the Same Sky ), published by DHIRA verlag, Erlenbach ZH, Switzerland in The same publisher also exclusively presented his own three books of poetry - Dovoljno lud ( Crazy Enough ) in 2009, Kroćenje straha ( Taming Fear ) in and Iza oklopa ( Behind the shield ) in On the website Poetas del Mundo he is represented among the poets from Bosnia and Herzegovina. Nihad lives and works in Tuzla.

153 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 153 I. Nothing. Hello, my Love, You will most probably never get this letter. Today is April 2nd, For the first time in my life (that I remember). April 2nd, I am some 22 years old. You are 29. Years. A measure I still cannot fathom. Nor what it is meant to measure. The soul? The mind? The heart? Wisdom? Character? Experience? Nor how it s supposed to measure it. Based on the revolution of planets, and some mathematical symbols? Nor what it truly means. What is a lot of years? What is too few? Is it not a universal measure? How its description varies on the situation! How the words that we need come flowing, And how differently do we use them with each our intention! The frailty. Of everything. Everything is so flexible. So delicately fleeting. Shape. Color. Taste. Smell. Nothing more than deceptions, own ideas, fantasies... illusions. Love? Yeah, man. I believe in Love. Oh, unfortunate reader, tricked by curious destiny into reading these lines, What is the first idea which occupied your mind and soul once you ve seen all of this? Are you yet another of those cruel, frozen forms of life, Which view their life from the sidelines, as a child would view its toy? Not caring whether it will break or replace it with another. Refusing to take responsibility, automatically blocking any kind of experiencing. And being such a wreck of something which, at one point, could have been the joyfulness of a child, Did it run through you, the thought: How pathetic! Do the flows of mercury running through your veins carry the fallacy of The non-existence of the sanctity called ? What s with the drama, what s with the philosophy - - is this what you are thinking as you are flying over this computer-entered text? Are you laughing over the contrast of the idea of the eternal, truthful, soulful, So meagerly imprinted on a piece of paper? Suffocating in the pores of the cellulose which was also once alive. This idea, which strives to spread itself unto others, who are not HIM,

154 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 154 Is slain before even having drawn its first breath. But, it is not just an idea, it is the very breath of life, The only breath of life, Which makes us different from the dead walking among us so freely. They are noisier than the rest, and they most readily spread their ideas about how life should really be lived, and what this miracle called life is made of. Beautiful is this world of ours, where we ve allowed the dead to teach us the art of living. So leisurely, just as cells decay once their time has passed, So do the last of the artists languish on this dissonant planet. They, who have dealt with the only art which stands above all else. Without anyone to look up to, or anyone to rely on, They stand so vulgarly forlorn, That they slowly start turning their backs on it. And when they realize that just turning is not enough for it to give up on them, They step on it and start stomping, For they have to ensure their weakness lest they return to it. And it is harder to say no to that art, than to life itself. But never underestimate the power of the zombies Who shape these souls from their first wondrous blinks toward this world. If they have not been anywhere before, and have nothing to compare this world to, Why do they wonder at it so much in their first heartbeats? Wonder? Wonder. And then... cry. For what or over whom do they spill those salty drops? How did so many oceans come to be how great of a being had to cry over us? It is already April 3rd. Something is making me note that, and respect the initial form. Is there a form when writing a love letter? And respect in the heat of passion? Is this a love letter at all? No. Perhaps. It is not. It is a letter fashioned of love, but it is not a love letter. My soul looks at itself in the mirror. In the mirror, images flow one after another, Of a nuclear plant melting down, Of some people far away being bombarded... And I sometimes hear such news, and despite everything I laugh.

155 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 155 The muscles of my face are controlled by other systems. Those systems work. The mirror must not be functioning well, I ll send it back to its analytic maker. But I dream that my eyes are being gouged out. And that I cannot cry, for I have them no more. And I realize that the mirror is precise, and the pain in my head from the repressing is even more sincere. And I laugh. And I feel the joy of sadness. And I give thanks for all I wish were not. And I live while I rot and am eaten by worms all around me. And I run away as I force myself to see the truth. And I know not if I can bear what has already been borne. For what s been lost has been won. And the cleansing begins. I wait. I wait. I wait. I. Nothing. And there I felt peace. But for one moment alone. The artist inside you cannot be wiped out, And when you muffle him with a pillow he can still be heard. He does need the air to breathe, for he feeds on something different. And from your being can never be expelled. The artist remains inside you, eternal, even when he turns towards death. For in death he will, too, find his purpose, and even his death will be a work of art. And you cannot escape such a destiny. The curse of an artistic soul. The gift of mortal logic. I. Nothing. Do you comprehend the essence? Face the truth! No, it cannot hurt. Your sensations have been numbed. A consequence of the whippings of the soul and scratching of the lungs throughout many lives. Your throat tightens, for you screamed with your hands, And clenched your fists with the Adam s apple that you do not have. And now it is dry and it blocks the flow of air, which you also do not need. Your existence is sustained only through L o v e. I. Nothing.

156 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 156 And feel the gaze of the thunder which has just begun to build by destroying. The harder the impact, the stronger the foundation. Be thankful at times, for you have the privilege of seeing. Without your eyes. Ha, ha, ha. Is it disquieting for you, this babbling on the verge of madness? Once you feel reason, the logic will break, And for the first time you shall breathe deeply and finally smell the stench of truth and the perfume of lies. And then again, again. And again. And each original truth will smell into a lie. Only when there are none left shall you feel the scent of reality and then you will experience: I. Nothing. Nina Zdinjak sprang from the womb of her mother, on a scorching day in the summer of And then, nothing. She just watched, observed. She did not complain, did not cry, until one day she started going to primary school. With the first foundations of knowledge arrived the first tears. A rebel to the core could not stand being inside on a beautiful day, and as his heart beat in the rhythm of the basketball being played in the courtyard, he could not bear to be forced to listen about some rivers forking or other. This lasted, hand in hand with headaches, for a full eight years. So that he could survive (this rebel inside of her), he took onto himself a million commitments which can fulfil the human soul. So, she spent her weekends raising wolves, tigers, bears and many other animals, working as a volunteer at the Belgrade zoo. During workdays, she attended classes of this and that, practices of this and that, and was constantly in motion. This helped her through the worst period in life, that of being a child. When she attempted to enrol into the Faculty of Dramatic Arts, department of acting, at 15, she was cruelly rejected. Once again disappointed with the entire world, she enrolled into a high school instead. During that time, she got along the best with books. It was a new way of coping with the system. It truly made things quite easier, and throughout high school, there was much more room for her to breathe. Today, Nina is attending her final year at the Faculty of Philosophy. She is freer than ever before. She acts regularly at the Branko Krsmanović Academic Theatre, and she is a passionate speleologist and free climber. Occasionally, she also writes a little something down (a story published in the collection Houses in the air, Alma publishing house, 2010).

157 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 157 *** Even when we die, we don t disappear. That is, we are no longer visible for the living. But, to disappear? How is it even possible to disappear a missionary Bert Hellinger asked himself, rubbing on himself ( eyes closed ) and the silhouette` s tail, a disappearing ointment, in a hut, on the ocean coast. Recipe for vanishing: The Ouroboros breeds himself takes himself for his wife cheats kills if need be self-creating narcissus breed from the unfertilized egg grows first horns inseminates the word, its double listening to Still Got The Blues When a trickle of poisonous blood squirts from his eyes he enters the body of Godot to spawn death: The first one is easy. You tense up and get over it. Beware of the second death. ( during the fertile days ) A live wheel The Ouroboros Godot eats its tail a thought, ( My ending is my beginning ) that melts. Oliver Milijic (1973, Nis, Serbia). The book of the poetic texts MISTAKE(N), His works were published at the anthologies of the poetry of young poets, as well as in literate magazines and experimental funings. He was regular associate of the SIGNAL magazine (the herald of the neo-avant-garde movement Signalism, the founder Miroljub Todorovic) and signalistic almanacs. He is also represented at the anthology of the alternative poetry CUTS FROM THE BARBERSHOP (Sunnyvale,USA,2004) and at the anthology of the Slovenian art MIEDZY OCHRYDA A BUGIEM (Krosno, Poland, 2011), as well as in culture & literature magazines PROTOKOLU KULTURALNEGO ( Poznan, Poland, 2011 ) and RADOSTOWA (Starachowice, Poland, 2010).

158 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 158 Katya Not of my own choosing do my paps darken like muzzles. My belly slowly swells. I cannot see my valley now. I crave for lassi but they bring us rusty water in the bottom of a can. They come and come, day, night, day, unbuttoning as the door slaps against the stucco. They leave our thighs and faces crusty with their stink. And after me, they hump across on to my mother, covering her shrunken face with her heavy dirndl skirt. She is dry, dry. Her womb is a husk. Each day I am ripening. I do not want this cuckoo fluttering its rabid wings in my darkness. I can see its wild eyes beneath my skin. It will suck me dry as rock. Yet, I have practised its birth how I will keep my legs far apart, my eyes screwed shut, then roll it with my heel in the dust kicking it and its afterbirth down the mountainside. Or, how I will say, Give me my baby, and boy or girl, call it Katya. That was my mother s name. Pat Borthwick lives in the UK s rural Yorkshire. She spent her earlier life on the rivers and canals of England and remembers learning letters of the alphabet and numbers from those chalked on goods wagons (the later railway system often built alongside the waterways). She trained in Fine Art and worked as a ceramic sculptor for ten years, her work being in collections both at home and abroad. Pat began writing in her late forties, first short stories and then poems. She finds both genres challenging and enjoyable but believes poetry to be the more complex of the two and thereby her favourite, although thankfully short stories still find a way of squeezing themselves out between the poetry gaps. With poetry, Pat wrestles to find the right balance between what she calls The Three S s the sense, sound and shape on the page of the poem. She also works in audio and has made several CD sonic portraits using ambient sound about a sense of place. These include a hospital, a church, allotments, a range of chalk hills and a newly formed AONB (Area of Outstanding Beauty) in and around Castle Howard. Pat sees this as painting with sound. Perhaps because of her visual art training and background, Pat has written several poems in collaboration with artists working in different media. As with her poem Katya she often writes about grey areas and finds this important in a world which increasingly only operates in black and white. Whatever the final circumstances, she hopes to go out writing.

159 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 159 I met you again I met you again you changed,everything changed This time I knew really better The moment I heard you, I was skidder The season of love was again coming out You were the always one I thought about Maybe it was love..wait it is ALL LOVE.. In this darkness of life Where Every hand was leaving me You came like an angel And took me nearer to heaven You always asked when did love happen My answer, Love was happened When I first heard you crying Love was happened When it was eight in the clock Love was happened When you blushed on the Skype for first time Love was happened When you said, I will be there for you forever Love was happened When you had put that curl behind your ear Love was happened When I was eating magi, and you called me and said come down Love was happened When our elbow touched in that theater Love was happened When we drank fruit bear together Love was happened When I wanted to hold your hand in rickshaw but couldn't Love was happened When I proposed you in the rain on the bridge Love is all that happens When you r with me and when i am with you I always kept searching for something which would make me happy But everything else tasted like salt in tea Every hour,every day every second I got more and more within you Yeah but I knew I was killing myself you are my girl Who has a little curl Right in the side of right ear Is this a natural art Or are you my sweetheart if love can be heard I could hear you now if love could be seen I can see you always you are that part of my life that remains the closest to me you are that part of my thought that runs always through my mind today is your birthday and i am more happy than you are my happiness is the summation of my happiness plus yours 34 months and it still baffles me what are you? my fate or destiny you are neither my love nor my friend you are the mixture of both which words never said you are something greater for me eyes don't see it, but heart does feel On this birthday, I promise, When you will be sad, I will dry your tears When you will be afraid,i will vanish your fears When you will be lost and cant see the light I will be your Philips tub light,shining ever so bright If only you knew in dis world what I feel for you. I just feel you coming to me when the sun gets bright I just feel your heart beating with mine at the break of night I just feel u in my arms when nothing goes right I just feel ur hand in mine when t whole world leaves me aside If only you knew in this world what I feel for you. And, Out of this life, of smiles and sorrows I promise together we will face all tomorrows You will be my best friend and love coz its all written in destiny from above I wish I could write this poem till the end of my life And, I don t know what will be the end of this rhyme Whatever I think comes down to the same old tune No matter what happens, I will hold ur hand forever You are my life Angel I love you.

160 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 160 NAME: PRASHANT KUMAR D O B : 24 TH AUGUST, 1993 GENDER: MALE OCCUPATION: STUDYING UNDERGRADUATE PRO- GRAMME IN PETROLEUM ENGINEERING NATIONALITY: INDIA ADDRESS: PDPU,GANDHINAGAR,INDIA

161 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 161 Poetry for Tomorrow We feel proud being descendant of Neanderthals on the flow of time living here, adjacent everywhere as a part of the long human-ware. Beauty of boundary encircles the edge of space We are amongst The sun, moon and stars at a kaleidoscopic distance. A play of love for entire mankind I plant in dream, a world of garden full of flowers and friendship. Pravat Kumar Padhy holds Masters and Ph.D in Applied Geology from ISM-Dhanbad, India. His poem, haiku and tanka have appeared in Commonwealth Quarterly, Poet, Creative Forum, Poets for Living Waters, The Enchanting Verses, Literary Endeavour, Poetcrit, The Houston Literary Review, World Haiku Review, Lynx, The Notes from the Gean, Ambrosia, Sketchbook, Atlas Poetica, Kokako, Simply Haiku, The Mainichi Daily News, Haiku Reality, The Heron s Nest, Red Lights, Chrysanthemum etc. Haiku published on the HSA Haiku Wall in the historic Liberty Theatre Gallery, Bend, Oregon, USA. Recipients of many awards and commendations. His Credits include Honourable Mention by The Mainichi Daily News for the Best of English Haiku:2010, Haiku Reality Editors Choice, Second Best of Issue, June, Recently tanka published in the Atlas Poetica Special Features on A Botany of Tanka. Credited publication of verse, Silence of the Seas, The Tiny Pebbles. His latest collection Songs of Love: A Celebration is in press (Writers Workshop Publication)

162 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 162 Dreams the energy Kites in the sky flying so high, My breath goanna give me sake of sigh, I can see the shining stars, Glittering around the beautiful mars Birds are booming at top of the hill, My heart wanna say just be chill, I can be at top of the crest, To win the life with bravely quest. It s goanna funny to have all that, But dream gets true when I fought, Kicks the problems kicks so away, Dreams the energy Dreams the way. NAME: RAHUL SATISH BADNAKHE. AGE: 19 ADDRESS: AKOLA, DIST. AKOLA, MAHARASHTRA, INDIA. QUALIFICATION: UNDERGRADU- ATE,B.TECH CHEMICAL (2 ND YEAR). COLLEGE NAME: COLLEGE OF ENGG. & TECH, AKOLA. PART OF INTREST: WRITING CUL- TURAL POEMS, SHORT STORIES, INSPPIRING THOUGHTS, SPEECHES AND ARTICLES.

163 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 163 WHEN THE OAK WERE DYING Only a poplar can make apples tree cry, and shake the soul of a giant oak, I love when wind shakes the canopy. His smile is tender music for my ears his whispering voice calm my heart from the distance. Only a poplar can make apples tree cry. And I cried silently that night when he told me that was late, I was too late for this life. My soul was splitting apart at the night when the gentle giants die. My name is Ratka Shokleska, born 4 th July 1983 at Skopje (where I am living and working). I m an archeologists, and now a student at geotechnical engineering at Faculty of Civil Engineering at Skopje. I m big poetry (and art) admirer. I was : ~ Participant at Poetry Slam in CK, Skopje (February 2011) ~ Reading my poetry at midnight radio show Plаyеrs at canal 103 (02 of May 2011) ~ Participant as a young poet at 50 th Jubilee of Struga poetry Nights (August 2011) ~ Reading my poetry at cafe and book store Mgor (September 2011) Don t have published poetry book yet, but I m still actively writing at my blogs - светлина ( и своерачно ( The poem that I m sending to you is originally written on English language.

164 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 164 "Afterlife" In between the serene Earth and the velvet sky, There lies a technicolor horizon, Where the soul is unbound, Yet not free. My eyes shed a tear, And lips utter the words They can't hear. I cry,i sob I yell and I shout. Searching for something and Trying to figure out. All those dreams left unfulfilled And the secrets kept concealed. Even the first kiss didn't matter As I watched my soul shatter. Had I been given just a day more to live, I'd watch my long-awaited Sun, rising behind the cliff. Would give wings to all those dreams, And ask for the last dance,or so it seems. But here I'm with a heart beating so slow. In this afterlife I must forget everyone I know. The stars are beautifully aligned in here, More perfectly than I had ever seen. This is neither your Earth nor my Heaven, But just a place in between. Name:Ranu Kunwar Age: 18 India Student (XII std) Started writing at the age of 12 and into poetry lately. Write mostly about the daily dilemmas of teen and adult life.

165 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 165 Everyone of us has its own dream Something in our life may bring Happiness throughout entire living Aimed when we start thinking To be philanthropist is all I wanted Lend a helping hand is what I acted Seeing less fortunate, I am being hurt My mind dissolved, my heart melted How can I perform this dream of mine If for myself I feel sublime Lack of everything and it's not so fine Where people needs it most of the time? If I were to help, I want to be Somewhere in a place they don't know me It is good to share without waiting Better to give than receiving Share your blessings to humanity For it is an act of Christianity It is indeed a step to divinity And it will sounds through eternity I know this famous quotation line We cannot give what we do not have So I pray to God and I believed He will give me a chance to become...philanthropist

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168 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 168 Yearning Yearning is immensely potent It can swallow oceans Dispel the darkens from the abyss And when in full swing It can burn fields of golden wheat Sown and left untended By forgotten soldiers. It becomes a spring in the desert of suffering, it could shed blood Through the root of the horn It is like ten hearts pounding in unison In just one heartbeat. Yearning for love, love yearning My body desire that reverberates Repeatedly through the accords of unquenchable silence For the mundane glitz From Unicorn s eye It cannot sail through my troublesome infinity That I make myself yearn for, Where I find and loose myself, Where I greet the dawn and the day. Yearning for the bunch of jasmine flowers, Yearning to solve the riddle in the marigold leaf Whispers between the stars and the wave Expressions of yearning Realm of God. The spirit feels presentment, Starts talking to itself, Gazes at the big blue above There is something else up there, There are others who stare at the big blue Cares the big blue Someone from the outside, someone Stirs our yearning To touch the drop of dawn where Faraway fires died When they called out for our bodies To fade away And turn into debris in the kingdom of God. Samira Bergman Karabeg was born in 1954 in the village of Husimovci not far away from Sanski Most. She graduated in finance trade and management at the university of Zurich, where she lives since Samira writes poetry and prose in Bosnian and German language, and translates to both languages. Her works were represented in five anthologies published in Switzerland and Germany. Samira published three independent poetry books in Bosnian and two in German. Her current translating project is the translation of Sabahudin Hadžialić's poems to German. Samira is the founder of Dhira publishing house which vision is Authors for Authors. Through the publishing house she donated several hundreds of books to a number of city libraries and humanitarian associations operating in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Samira is the member of editorial board of MaxiMinus, the web based satirical magazine and an assistant editor-in-chief of Diogen, a proculture magazine. Samira Bergman is a member of the Writer s association of Eastern Switzerland and Poetas del Mundo.

169 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 169 VAGRANT A vagrant asked me: Where is your dream? The voice turned me to the face with a sore. Tearful morning dew, hit me through the red blood of snowstorm. The question mark bowed hunched, I don t know where I left it. Before God I bow with a banished human cruelty, wept and over dried. From the hit on the eye blue poured over me, and the tongue remained fat before the vagrant s voice. My dream? I haven t seen it for long. A vagrant asked me: Where are your thoughts? I entered the yesterday looking for them. Daylight splashed me, illuminated me to pain, it made my eyes red. The exclamation mark straightened up threatening, I don t know where I lost them. Before God I straighten up through dust of light I discern them, blown away through the previous day. The fluttering dress of the servant oblivion, the head remained cracked before the vagrant s voice. My thoughts? I haven t heard them for long. A vagrant asked me: Where is your tomorrow? I remembered the song, I wrote it yesterday. Long ago, it seemed to me in the darkness of the evening past before the full stop, the moon of the dawn, with the departure I forgot about it. Before God I swear that tomorrow I won t forget it anymore. I ve given promises at the innocent altar, the new sheet of the tomorrow s vagrant page. My tomorrow? I was looking for it, I don t lie and before God I did swear. I won t lie to you anymore my vagrant s soul Sanja Muchkajeva-Vidanovska was born on the 12th of May in Bitola, Macedonia. She finished both her primary and secondary education in Bitola. She graduated from the Faculty of Forestry in Skopje. She is the author of four novels: "Sinners"," Sinners - 2 (modern fairy tale)", "Isolation", and "The fifth story".

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171 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 171 THE EARTH WILL BECOME A DOT Great Giant Foolishness! I bow to you, because you have the shape of a sea horse and fur of supernatural colors. I wanted to give you something! To perform, to perform your dance, to jump trough the days and nights until the Earth becomes a dot. Great Giant Foolishness! Let me now feed the people with your porridge. Dress me too with the costume of human! Abandon gardens of paradise and wonders (The Earth today is a ball!) Give me the bland Specter, let me feed the people. Semra Kikić was born on in Gradačac. She graduated in philosophy and sociology at University of Sarajevo, and is currently attending the master's program of Indian Philosophy and Religion at Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi, India. She has a very diverse range of interests, but mostly doing music, photography and writing.

172 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 172 Infatuation...May Be... I ran miles and miles, To see her mesmerizing smile. And when I saw her hypnotic eyes I knew I was not going to get over her all my life. Looking at her, everyone will feel the same; It is God who is playing this game. In spite of so beautiful she is calm; Her look hit me like a storm. To get her I can go any length; Just for that moment I am holding my breath. The day when we will speak; I will be happy as I ve reached Everest s Peak. After seeing her I saw a spark; Otherwise my life was dark. I don t know whether it is good or bad; I won t do anything which will make her sad. All war is based on deception; All affairs are based on some perception. My perception might be right or wrong; In my decision I am very strong. Her feel in my heart is a pain; Her thought always run in my vein. I don t know how it is going to end; May be one day she would be my friend. NAME : SIVAKUMAR FATHER'S NAME: KUPPUSAMY D.O.B: 22-APR-1986 PROFESSION: SOFTWARE ENGINEER QUALITIFICATION: B.TECH COMPUTER SCIENCE & ENGINEERING CURRENT LOCATION : I- 304,IRIS,MAGARPATTA CITY, HADAPSAR, PUNE PERMANENT LOCATION: 6,SHENBAGAM STREET, ANNAI THERESA NAGAR, NEW SARAM, PUDUCHERRY

173 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 173 READING NERUDA You are reading Neruda At 6 o clock in the morning After sleepless night In somebody else s apartment In which you already feel at home In the city you have been calling your own For a long time Though you know it is not Neruda, which you don t even like to read (And you refuse to admit That today, you even Like some of his poems) And you know you could write The most beautiful verses this morning The greatest love poems of all And the sadesst ones, too Only to defy Neruda But you are wondering if it s worth doing Without knowing If you ll ever get the chance to read them To Her Zagreb, Slobodan Nikolić was born on June, 9th, 1980 in Pančevo, where he still lives, after years of nomadic life in Novi Sad, Subotica and Belgrade near Pančevo. He graduated from Military Naval Academy n Belgrade, but, he is, luckily, out of the Serbian Navy. He falls in love easily in cities and women. In cities mostly because of women. He practices scientific dream interpretation(threedimensional approach: Freud-Jung-Szondi). He writes poetry and prose, and rarely essays. His first novel is about to be published. His poetry was published in collections and magazines both in Serbia and abroad in Italy, Croatia, Hungary, USA, United Kingdom. His first novel was shortlisted for VBZ Zagreb, publishing house award for the best unpublished novel of the year He was the winner of Unesco plate 2011, in Castello di Duino competition in Trieste.

174 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE my job- a teacher - like cycling, travelling, reading, going to the theatre, love the nature, have two adult sons - published five poem books, one novel, one short stories - write articles and interviews - write plays, commedies - also paint, had three exhibitions

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177 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 177 Absence You may have come but I am always lost for once more I don t remember -I never rememberhow things are when you leave everything around you inside you hoping only for a moment of return hoping so deeply so hard that I forgot how to wait I forgot what to wait Oh God! I have never actually remembered. Name : Stavros Stavrogiannopoulos Age : 33 Education : Department of Training and Education in Pre-School Age in University of Patras. Occupation : Teacher

178 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 178 CROSSROADS Drifting backwards and forwards has led me nowhere so far what remains at last is the enchanting, glittering moment before the aura of the final departure. Looking back, as I see you disappearing in the distance a bittersweet sensation of suffocation becomes overwhelming, but I have known that all along, haven t I? As you fall apart departing from your own shadow eager to break all bonds the same broken promise haunts you still until silence prevails all around Dead ends always lead your thoughts to a standstill, while crossroads keep you focused and alert, even when there is no turning back there is always a way out from your deepest fears, from your ongoing compromises. As long as you come across the moonlight every night darkness ceases to be your only choice to proceed anticipation, high aspirations and great expectations have always illuminated your path even when everyone else abandoned you in the wilderness. Keep your fingers crossed because the best is yet to come after all you are just a passer-by get carried away by the powerful flow of life where to? Still remains a mystery You don t need a draft to keep you going only a raft to stay afloat.

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181 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 181 WHY Can you comprehend the pain when it's pouring from your eyes? Can you ask a simple question when there are million whys? You probably wouldn't hear my scream because you live within the ice... A bird will die on your command and you will feel comfortably and nice. You pull the strings of happiness and sorrow You make me feel fulfilled and you make me feel hollow Holding my neck, biting my lips, Lying me with a smile and raping me with a kiss. You'll be a devil of my hell and I will be through your arm pierced nail... Help me my darling to forget who I am And I will be happy again. besides I am damned! My name is Tamara Lucic Dinic.I was born on 25th decembar in 1975.I live and work in Negotin,Serbia.I have a degree in economics annd I write poetry and short stories.

182 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 182 Because of Klimt I take you, starving, in verse and in high heels. When the day miss to be good I take you. When I do not need you and when I resignedly talk with the fishes and shellfish I take you. As a runaway shelter, I take you In the golden color of Klimt and regular, against the pain. As an enemy, cautiously, and skirmishes with the estimated uncertainty of outcomes, I take you. When I have my mouth full of death and life I'm takeing you and with no remorse I approach, touch the shape of your eyebrows and nostrils, down to the lips, with my finger I describe a place where I drop my breath and take you again. I was born in Porec in 1966., I live in Mučići, suburb wilage of Rijeka and Opatija. I write, read,create, and it seems to me that my whole life revolves around writing. I publish in web, on my blog for years but my poems are published and awarded in national and international poetry events : Osječke poetry nights (2008.) Croatia International poetry meeting Garavi sokak,indjija,serbia (2 009., and 2011.) Blogopedija (2008. and 2009.) web.contest Publications of the poetic society "" St. Michael " (2009.) Croatia International competition" Melnik poetry evenings " (2010. and 2011.) Bulgaria International Herakleian poetic celebratio n Bitola (2010.and 2011.) Macedonia Novosarajevski writters meetings (2010.and 2011.) Bosnia and Herzegovina I won award as the best non-professional poet in Croatia for year in the selection of the Croatian Parliament of culture. My poetry is what my soul is.

183 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 183 MASTER OF THE GAME Fourth of July, incredible heat. The pavement is melting, My dress is wet, from my own sweat. But I am in a hurry. No, I am running-madly in love. I entered the room, full of my colleagues and friends. Someone waved to me, pointed to an empty place. I took a seat. Not next to him, but close. And with no effort, by eyes only, and speechless movements of our lips, we agreed: I left to another room. But he didn't come after me. He remained seated at his place. Smiling all the time. Our eyes were locked in amazing gaze: like two leopards hypnotizing their game, like athletes before making a score. I was all in rage: my body couldn't stay still, thunderstorms were flashing from my eyes, I wanted to leave. The show was over. He made some vain excuse to all, and left. To his sweet home, to his lover, or just to watch with buddies an important football game. I am not a fool: you have seen it all. My longing, my craving, my willing to surrender, that I was so tender, ready to be collected like a letter, or a peace of cake. Oh, how I wished at that moment a tsunami wave to sweep you away. I do not need a Macho man, I do not need a Fisherman, and yes, I know there is a plenty of fish in the sea, but I prefer a woman to be. I do not need you as one night stand, or just for a day. If you really care, I would like to be there tomorrow, the day after tomorow, and all the mornings to come. And I do not mind that you are married, and have a mistress too! I do not need presents from you, and I am not interested in legal papers, or your poems, mine are good too! Is it so hard to understand that I wanted only to be with you!!! Ok.Yes.You are The Master of The Game. I got the lesson. And accepted it. But who is a Winner: You or Me has no importance now. You just closed the doors of my heart, that has been opened only for you.

184 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 184 Born in Belgrade, Graduated Second Grammer School & Hight School of Commerce and Economics, Belgrade University. Member of Poetry Club "Čukarica", Belgrade. Published in more than twnty Anthologyes, prizes and honors, Highest: First Public Prize, Spiritual Poetry Bijeljina, RS Translated: Bulgarian, Melnik Writes in Srbian and English

185 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 185 LECTURED BY THE FUTURE Collect your wits about you, students of proof and reason groping in the dark of man s complexities to rip the confines open. See. You have the Book-Wordas the basis for perception, guides for the mustering of courage, brains for the eking out of essence. Know that the House of Zion rumbles, And The Tree of Jesse shakes taken by the roots of value and of virtue, shifted into wilting by complacency. Beware of traits-mutations that disorientate-changing unborn children into guinea pigs trapped, unwilling, between time and evolution. The D-day test is nigh, a daunting task. I am the seer, judge, full knowledge, you, the exam takers mulling over science. I practice zero tolerance for apathy, abuse. A chosen few are my graduates. Their marks go calculated on effect, preparedness, performance. As you give ample proof, to pass mark you get nearer. The truths of erudition are the syllabi for life. As I wait, destined to test you, remember that discernment is an art, demonstration, a profession. Therese Pace was born in Rabat Malta and now resides in Birkirkara Malta. She published her first poetry collection in Maltese titled ARPEĠĠI (2003) which won her the National Book Council poetry prize. Her second collection Meta Tkellimni Hi... is on its way to the printers. She also published Sfumature, a chapbook of poems in Italian, Naqraw u Nirrimaw, a set of 6 story/ poetry books for primary school children as well as Siltastorja, a comprehension booklet for primary school students. Published in Write Me a Metaphor and various anthologies in different languages. Winner of Poesia e Immagine (poetry section) and commended in the Nosside Poetry Prize among others. Took part in several international projects such as Poetry in Motion, Tonguestories European Union project and 100 Thousand Poets for Change. Some of her poems were translated into English, Italian, French, Spanish and the Esperanto languages.

186 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 186 We or I or you or you (plural) or he/she or they or what you want And focus and perspective and forms and conjugations Tension, styles and modes, mottos and motives And you my protagonist and you the other others And you with your eyes and your whole selves What I seek is so much less than that What I seek bathes in bright light What I seek is singular What I seek is mere Is one. Single Word I studied English and Dutch literature and Third World Development and have been a passionate reader for many years. I work as an editor for a large publishing company, in Brussels, Belgium.

187 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 187 FEAR POEM in the shrubbery girls try on their dream dresses knitted by the hands of the skilful boys they put them on in dull nights when they lean their thoughts against the bottom of the well on whose top instead of the sun there is fear rewinding their faces become pale like the pages of a poisonous book from which there is faith running out absolution, seven mortal sins while death notches concerns on the heels of the wind Tomislav Ribić, Poet, and writer of prose and plays. He graduated in 1983 in Economics. Five collections of his poems Aztlan (1997), Zapisci anđela/ Writings of an Angel (1999), Američki sen/ American dream (2002), Osjećam melankoliju/fellin melancholy (2002.) and Ribočuvareva djeca have been published. His play Vespers was published in 1997, while parts of his plays The Kings of Time and Demons were printed a year earlier. His play The ground floor is translated in a German language. He has won more than thirty prizes for his poems and prose. His poems have been included in anthologies compiled by Dr. Joza Skok, I. Kutnjak and I. Mihalkovic. Vjesnik newspaper, the Vecernji list daily, Plima magazine, Quorum, Mogucnosti, Nova Istra, Croatian North, Tragovi, Marulic, Sfera, Kolo, Kaj magazine have all published his poems and stories, and they have also appeared in some fifty collections and magazines. He is a member of Varazdin poet s society.

188 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 188 HEAVENLY ANSWERS I sit alone in the park just as I ve been doing always, not knowing what will befall my little stay, my hope, aspirations and dreams almost lost because of the rain. Why are you starring at my first asked the beggar, Do you even have a face replied the woman, I move into myself trying to understand what we are turning into. the shining darkness, the faceless beggar and the rain rings at my feet, warning me of their presence. how could I stop this ran from falling? nobody looking at me could see it. To understand, I stood up to admire the flying butterfly, the whispering voice of the cricket and the unchanging atmosphere surrounding me. Still ringing, my mind begs for heavenly answers, too many, yet too few, always smiling, yet sorrowful, wanting to live yet dying, then I ask, what is the secret of living? Held in the grips of the magic, passion flows out of my heart like the cock dancing for the hen, from slow motion to random motion, from down to the top, like a plane heading no where, Then I ask, what is the secret of living? Stopping now is a sign of weakness, then I heard a fainting sound What do you want? echoed the woman, Food, don t you understand replied the beggar, a little while they both smile, then he march to the next victim, which was me Udoekene Abel Is a Poet and freelance writer from Nigeria. he is currently working on his first novel "Everything Is Possible" he has over a dozen of poems in Print. most of his poems can be found at

189 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 189 HOT CHOCOLATE SHE SLIPS INTO THE ROOM SO SMOOTH AND SULTRY HER NARROW EYES SLIDING FROM SIDE TO SIDE HER RUBY LIPS ARE TEPID AND SYRUPY AND HER SKIN IS DARK AND SLEEK AS THE SKY SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE SENSUOUS, SMOOTH AND SOFT SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE AN EBONY BROWN BROTH THE SOOTHING AROMA OF HER STUNNING PRESCENCE BRINGS OUT VIBRANT CAFE' AU LAIT EMOTIONS THE SILKY GLOW OF HER STEAMY ESSENCE POURS ENCHANTING AMBER LOVE POTIONS SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE RICH, DARK AND WARM SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE IN EXOTIC SUCCULENT FORM HER WAFTING MOVEMENTS ARE TASTED BY ALL EYES HER SOFT VOICE LICKED IN BY YEARNING YIELDING EARS WHO IS THIS WOMAN THAT NO MAN CAN DENY HOT CHOCOLATE, WHOSE LOVE AROUSES INNER FEARS SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE SWEET, LUCID AND BROWN SHE IS HOT CHOCOLATE WARM DESIRE IS HER CROWN Vernon J. Davis jr. has been writing poetry since the early seventies. He was first inspired by Langston Hughes's poem "Impasse", which started his journey and adventure into the world of poetry and the spoken word.vernon's very first published poem,"beautiful Black Woman"came out in 1978 in a magazine called Black Forum. More poetry followed in other magazines like SoulWord and Dawn, a magazine supplement to the Los Angeles Sentinel, an African-American newspaper.mr. Davis has also taught Creative Writing and recited his poetry in talent shows, Church gatherings and open-mike forums. He is still inspired by and in awe of Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni and Maya Angelou. His Idols.

190 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 190 Inheritance I remember how at the junction of each faceless night and pallid moon, Amma would recluse in the verandah watching the gray skies cough clouds. Mediating memories, her eyes traced a silhouette on the ethereal horizon of dusk. As if the sky held out its hand, asking her to dive into a lap of lapses; in caves, the darkness of which was beyond the realm of any other to explore. He welcomed her into a house she knew like the back of her hand, to explore each room in her memory and savour each memory in their room. Amma entered a room the day I was born: cluttered with gifts, laughter and toys. stored still, perhaps, in a corner of our attic like a shriveled rose-bouquet on a grave. She sifted through her sentiments, one trinket at a time. Cleaning a mess was her expertise but some clutters, she knew, are made for preservation. She entered another, ripe in time for aarti and stirred with hymns the saints to life. The ones she ascertained bodily and believed to always hold good their promises. They did, sometimes. Like that night of aarti, conducted to harness the heavenly light to shine on my calling to foreign shores at the nether end of the blasphemous black seas. Her folded palms whispering anxious prayers, beseeching hope for my safety and pleading for the safety of her hope to kiss my face again. She knocked on the flooded night she was sitting next to Abba s bed watching him sink in the white hospital gown like a swimmer reaching for the walls. He gasped, still as handsome as their first spring: pride curled up in his moustache, strength at the ledge of his shoulders; silence resonating in his thundering voice. She held on to him as if he were the arm of a man trying to snatch away her purse. He pointed at twilight, as if repealing allegations of leaving her to live on her own strife. His stare hinting the far window of dusk, the minutes before he knew he would die. His spent his last moment gazing at her with a wisdom beyond the consideration of true lovers, hoping that she could save him, knowing that through her he would savour life, continuing to culminate in what he was leaving behind. Alive in the light of her eyes and for some reason he smiled one last time. Attentive as anesthetized, her consciousness left for every rendezvous with her lover on those nights. Abba dwelled in those moments of twilight that are found and lost in the blink of an eye. She savored his touch, one shiver at a time. A lover that tasted the salt of earth until one day he filled the space in the soil with his bones. His silhouette in the sky and her shadow in the verandah quantified memories from reality in a distance that would take light-years to measure. Those nights she would promenade till dawn, wheezing in sighs, strange and distant from the Amma I had known. What I knew was that she told no one how it hurt her to inhale. Removed from the removal of removals, removed from recognition; she floated like an empty urn on the Ganges, estranged from the soot of her own bones. Each night when her eyes ventured at dusk they returned in a trajectory of slow motion. I watched her entire life pour from the skies in the time she took to turn her gaze to mine, hoping that someday I would save her. *Amma Mother (Hindi) * Abba Father (Hindi) * aarti Special prayers offered (Hindi)

191 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 191 Vineet Kaul is a journalist, freelance editor, songwriter and musician. Having recently finished his MA in English Literature, he is pursuing a part -time Diploma in Creative Writing and preparing for an MFA in Poetry. His work has appeared in Loch Raven Review, Nether Magazine, Indigo Rising Magazine, Quantum Poetry Magazine, Short Fast & Deadly, The Scarlet Sound, Featured Poem: Asia Writes, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Fleeting Magazine, Subliminal Interiors and other print and online journals. He also has a Best of the Net 2011 nomination and is shortlisted as the finalist for the 2011: Best Short Writing in the World Competition (results pending).

192 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 192 Sublime Throttle me, you despicable worm, once again, hide my light under a bushel, deride every endeavour of mine, applaud my decline, I shall rise all sublime. You can shut me in the smallest box in the world, I shall surface. To push a cork under the waterit s absurd. You can thrust me through the glass, I shall progress. For an eternity I shall last! Pummel me into submission, hate me till blood pours out of you. There s the stark precision in these verses I am higher than you! You ridiculous simpleton, you laugh at what you don t grasp. Your ignorance weighs a ton, in your arms tightly clasped. So, go ahead, once again deride every effort of mine, applaud my decline, I shall, certainly, fly all sublime! Violeta Milovanovic was born in 1985 in Kraljevo, Serbia. She was educated at the University of Kragujevac, Faculty of philology and arts, the department of English, where she received her diploma in Her interest in writing poetry was developed in elementary school. Initially, she was writing poems and lyrics for songs in her mother tongue, Serbian. She started writing poems in English while she was a college student. Several of her poems in English and Serbian were published in e-magazines Poeta No.2, 3 and 4 ( She tried her hand at writing novels, also in English. Those pages, however, are still waiting to see the light of a day. She is currently working as an English teacher at a secondary vocational school in her hometown Kraljevo.

193 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 193 with eloquence as i periphered along its meander, as i glanced alongside & startled. for a moment & then stopped, she sits beside the river rocks. as my words would sketch her, & my paint brush writes her abest, phrases by phrases &shades by shades, with eloquence. i know i could make of this moment, phrases by phrases & shades by shades, with eloquence. with my paintbrush dipped in gold, and those colors on my canvas so bold, i could draw and draw much more. meanwhile she twinkles, she distracts and she winkles. as i astonished upon her flawessness, tanned and golden her skin, with my touch of a feather,absinthe ran through. with the same settling in my gait,i walked closer. i braced myself on knees, then conquered my erratic hearbeats. an impulsive look,& her smile then greeted. it vanquished my ice of solitaire. amazed & avatarred i procrastinate, i procrastinate my will,my wishes. i miraged my canvas,to insinuate. i know i could make of this moment, phrased by phrases,shades by shades, with eloquence. like my diary with the leather cover, like the meander of this sultry river. she enclosed them all within, with eloquence. the cynosure of her almond eyes sparkle, i bewitched & broomed off feet startle. her incisive smile charmed,i dazzled, allured me more & much more,i bedazzled. she resonate with her lamp black eyes;oh! so seraphic! i drowned deepest darkest ocean;alas! catastrophic! she charmed & charmed,& disarmed my mirage. my mirage, my canvas,my leather cover, phrased by phrases,shades by shades, with eloquence. no more the the sun could shine, aclouded by her bouffant layered hair, she nurtured the night falling amidst day, with nocturnal now,i was still daydreaming, undenying her presence i desired... more and much more, now,high and alcoholous,i was struck with dilemma, like a poem should she rhyme for me, or fall with colours on my canvas cover, with the absinthe still running through, i decided and i decided much more.. phrases by phrases,shades by shades, with eloquence, then i dropped off my quill,my brush,my will. to capture the uncaptured, to be numbed with beauty, to spell but spellbound, & then i made of this moment.. i sit & watched,& watched her all day.. i sit beside the meander,the river rocks, till the spur of moment is left to pass. till the breathe beholded is left to last. i know i could make of this moment. phrases by phrases,shades by shades, with eloquence. I am studying electrical engineering from mit,manipal,karnataka,india.i have been pursuing poetry as a hobby for years now,i have written lot of poems and have developed appreciable skill that has comprehended my considerable improvement over the years and interest in the field of writing.i wish to improve in poetry and other forms of writing,its the greatest passion of my life, i wish to become a professional writer & poet,i also wish to publish my work with an esteemed publishing house.if my poem is selected,it will inspire me beyond words to fulfill and realize my dream.thank you for your time. "i wish i can make of this moment.. through this poem..with eloquence.. :) "

194 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 194 No tears from birch trees or wild flowers The remnants of days on the sheets of alabaster All the seconds of longing of archaic letters contrived We embalm in time the remaining yearnings We portage morsels, piles of led The angst of youth in the eye Disperses with a flicker in the pupil s depth And all the other blocks of ice drifting on the lake Abscond in amaranthine darkness No tears from birch trees or wild flowers For the satiny shade in the penumbra of sun All summer rains could not wash away The scars on the face glistening in the reflection And the opalescence lives in this fairy tale house Gathers stars from the sky, counts footsteps and breaths mutely While the wind heaves the ashes into perpetuity And with it, obliterates the pulsating moments of being STILL AS A PUPIL OF SECONDARY SCHOOL - A NINETEEN-YEAR-OLD, WHILE MY FIRST PARTICIPATION ON A LITERARY COMPETITION - IT WAS A COMPETITION FOR THE BEST LOVE SONG IN THE HOUSE OF CULTURE IVANJICA IN 1997, I WON THE THIRD PRIZE AND I BECAME THE YOUNGEST RECEIVER OF ANY PRIZE OF THAT COMPETITION. THE SELECTOR AND THE CRITIC OF THAT COMPETITION WERE THE FAMOUS SERBIAN POETS DUŠKO TRIFUNOVIĆ AND PERO ZUBAC. IN PERIOD BETWEEN 2002 AND 2005 MY POEMS WERE USED IN EXPERIMENTAL TEACHINGS OF SERBIAN LANGUAGE AS WELL AS TEST QUESTIONS FROM THE SUBJECT METHODOLOGY OF TEACHING THE SERBIAN LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. THEY WERE TEST QUESTIONS TOO FROM THE SUBJECT CHILDREN`S LITERATURE AT THE FACULTY OF PEDAGOGY IN SOMBOR, WHERE I STUDY. IN THE MEANTIME I HAVE PUBLISHED MY POEMS IN NUMEROUS LITERARY PERIODICALS AND POETRY ALMANACS IN SERBIAN LANGUAGE (SUCH AS `LUČA`, `JESENJIN`, `SVETLOST KRESIVA`, ETC). THE LAST IN THE SERIES OF REWARDS AND AWARDS IS THE FIRST REWARD ON A LITERARY CONTEST WHICH WAS ORGANIZED IN HONOR OF 5th ANNIVERSARY OF THE AMERICAN CORNER IN SUBOTICA AND WHOSE TOPIC TITLE WAS "MY AMERICAN DREAM". THE COMPETITION WAS HELD IN ENGLISH LANGUAGE. BESIDES POETRY AND LITERATURE I AM A SUCCESSFUL PAINTER. I WAS BORN IN IN SUBOTICA, SERBIA, WHERE I LIVE AND CREATE.

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196 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 196 Vladimir Vukomanovic (Kraljevo, 1986), PhD student at the Faculty of Philology, University of Belgrade. Published a book of poetry named Persistence of Memory (Trstenik, 2005), awarded that year by Scarf of Matic /award for the best book of poems for poets under 30/; one part of the book has been translated into Polish and published in Portret magazine. One of the finalists in poetry festivals in Knjazevac and Zajecar, some of his poems have been published in literary magazines. Writes literary reviews for Second Program of Radio Belgrade.

197 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 197 WHEN There are moments, that Poets owe to keep silence: When birds sing, rivers flow their water quietly, sun shines and warms everywhere and people live in harmony. And there are times that Poets own to cry out: When the sky is getting dark from smoke of rockets and fires, sea is darkening from oil and sea-gulls are dying from pollution. When sun isn t warming all the people and children are unhappy. When ear spreads panic, fear and death, leave behind ruins, cripples and shuttered devastated dreams. Then, Poets owe to write. Making pen a weapon, a message and a hope. Till they come again these moments that Poets owe to keep silence. Zacharoula Gaitanaki was born in Athens on November 30 th, Now she lives in ZONI, a small Arcadian village and she is a farmer. She writes poems, articles, short stories, essays, novels, and review of book. She is a life member of the World Academy of Arts and Culture / World Congress of Poets (which awarded her the title of the Honorary Doctor of Literature) and of the IWA (International Writers Association). She is a member of the World Poets Society. Her poems, short stories and essays have appeared in foreign and Greek Anthologies, they have been translated into English, French, Italian, Albanian, Bengali, Russian, Japanese, Spanish, Chinese, Korean and have won prizes in national and international literary competitions. She selected by The International Poetry Translation and Research Centre and the Journal of The World Poets Quarterly one of The International Best Translators 2005 (China, 2006) and by the Greek Literary Club Xasteron as The Best Greek Translator of the year 2007 (March, 22, 2008). She has published the books: 1.- DISSIMILAR LANDSCAPES (Poetry collection), Athens, POTIS KATRAKIS, A PROLIFIC WRITER (Essay), Athens STATHIS GRIVAS WRITING FOR LIFE - Tracking in his poetical space (Essay), editions Platanos, Athens, «200 YEARS ZONI ( )», a special edition (with 59 photos + DVD), Morfotikos Exoraistikos Syllogos Zonis of Arcadia, Summer 2010

198 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 198 The year of cherry When the bird smiles in my gaze, and with the fragrance of cherry visits the height of poplar trees and it entwines the whole world with a flight, I no longer look for the silhouette of your body, because, enchanted by April I feel you boil on my lips and in the kisses of wind, I recognize your fingers coming with May. Under the beat of their touch, I open the glades in me and I become the tide of June blossoming in the stream of feelings, and with it to the coast of your breast I ashore and with all the force, the depth of subtle flow I spread, I bathe your things and with the sky of my skin I lay. In every star of July, which twinkles in your stature with the dreams of a sunflower I start August and with the golden of September I dance with soft belly and with my shivers, I sit all over your plains and with the moonlight, I knit the strings into embraces and I arrange juicy fruits of lust. With the year of cherry, I embrace, more and more ripe quince in you and with endless bunches of grapes I consume October, swaying my hips I quietly bring it to November I twist my palms and in ducats I string myself around your neck into quiet birch-lines and put on the glittering whiteness of December I take you into the first January dawn and with crystals of snowflakes kiss your passionately, I burn with the spark of February on your cheeks I gather the strength of March to bring you, with the first kiss of spring, to the year of cherry, with me, again Croatian poet Zal Kopp was born on October 15, 1956 in Osijek, Croatia. In 2005 Zal Kopp published two books of love poetry Under the bridge of my body and I talk with my kiss. Next two years he published books of love poetry Precious existence, Fashionably nude and book of prose, short essays about his hometown Osijek. All of these books are published in the Croatian language, but he also translates his poetry on English and Slovenian language. When you start searching your soul most of the time you stay in the discussion with love. Poet Zal Kopp on his poetry describes long love discussions and the women he loves the most. Those discussions are transfused into poems because through poetry soul can describe love in the best way. And woman? Woman, first of all with her inner beauty is most valuable. Without neglecting what is visible, female body, poet Zal Kopp through making love goes over his sensual passions and in a most natural way approaches his beloved lady. Throughout her body he meets her soul.

199 NO19 SPECIAL ART PAGE 199 Painful smile She was living with a truth inside her heart And a smile on her face She was made down by him At every single stage Tears drop down, on beautiful blushing cheeks She was let down by the world freaks But she had to live She was living for the family While cutting vegetables she often cut her finger To hide her tears, she became a loud singer She stretched her arms to have blessings from the sky But all what she got was the pain She argued with God one day Why me, every single time She was blessed with the vision one day Telling her she is the best in every way She became pious and she started doing the deeds that satisfied her Everyone around was staring at her She worked hard to satisfy everyone around But every time when she went to bed she wanted to hear a sound Sound that tells her some care words But she never heard them She remembered the time when everything and everyone was with her In a best way everything was for her But she never knew what was done wrong by her That all of the pleasures just repelled from her She lived with a death vision She struggled without a reason She was in a crowd but still alone Because what she wanted was gone Her life was like a smoke in the sky that vanishes with time But she never stopped trying She learned to smile in a span of time She learned to be happy But in real was she happy? No body knew until she died And on her grave was written The painful smile My name is Zoha; I am 18 years old and I am from Islamabad, Pakistan. Currently studying bachelors of sciences (Majors: Zoology, Botany & Chemistry) I write poetry to express things beautifully as I believe that, Poetry is something which expresses a feeling in a beautiful way, whether you want to express hate towards some one or something, if you do it in a poetic way it seems beautiful. I write about everything going around me. I also write on people expressions and their perspectives on things as it is my favorite hobby to observe people and their actions ( Sometimes I became successful in predicting their present feelings as well) I love to write about nature and blessings of God and also about everything that has ability to create hope and light in hearts of people. I feel in this way I can do justice to my name meaning as well (my name Zoha meaning is The Morning Light). J I wrote my first poem when I was 10 years old. I wrote it for my mother. I am a poet, spoken word artist, freelance writer, researcher (Animal behavior, ecology & environment). I just started off my career as youth motivational speaker as well.

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